


The Rival

by CrowleyLovesUSUK



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Gabriel (Supernatural), Because I Am Not A Professional and I Get My Knowledge From Burn Notice, Blood and Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Danger, Destiel - Freeform, DestielFFPrompt, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hostage Situations, Light BDSM, M/M, Mentions of Character Being Drugged (Past), New Year's Eve, Past Dean/Bartholomew, Sabriel - Freeform, Smut, Spanking, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Gabriel/Bottom Sam Winchester, Unrealistic Fight Scenes, Various Supernatural Characters - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2020-04-23 13:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 47,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleyLovesUSUK/pseuds/CrowleyLovesUSUK
Summary: It has been almost a decade since FBI agent Dean Winchester's relationship with Bartholomew Boyle came to an end.  Dean is happily living with Castiel now, but his world is still tainted by what happened between Bartholomew and himself.  When Cas decides that he wants their relationship to move forward, he goes behind Dean's back to procure tickets to Boyle's latest charity event on New Year's Eve.  Castiel hopes that Dean can finally confront his ex, and put the entire mess behind him.  Pissed off and reluctant, Dean nevertheless agrees.Things go sideways when Dean drinks too much, Bartholomew hurls insults, the FBI is watching, and the happy couple argues.  It gets even worse when shots are fired and suddenly they're in the middle of a hostage situation.Haunted by their last words before the gunfire, Dean must do everything he can to make sure that Castiel, as well as the rest of his team are safe once the dust has settled.  Dean is going to get his closure--but it might not be in the way that Cas had planned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A HUGE shout out to the lovely JenSpinner who originally posted this prompt on the Port, as well as designed the cover art for this piece!! Go read her stuff---its super fun and awesome! 
> 
> This prompt was posted about eight months ago, and I plowed into it and then lost steam, so I apologize if anyone has been waiting for this story. At this time, the fic is NOT finished. I know, I know, I have other WIPs that I should be focusing on, but I'm really hoping that starting to post this will force me to finish it. It's all planned out and outlined, I'm just being a stubborn assbutt. 
> 
> This is sort of a mashup of Die Hard, and the Burn Notice episode "Bad Breaks" (that Mark Sheppard was in), combined with lots of porn. The first of half of this story has a lot of gratuitous sex, and the second half has a lot of gratuitous violence. If that's not your bag, that's cool, just hit the back button on your browser.
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> *This fic is NSFW!!  
> *There is explicit Sabriel in this work!! However, it started as, and mostly features Destiel (which is also super explicit).  
> *This fic is time-stamped at the beginning of each chapter. The first chapter starts us off, and the second chapter then flashes back to show how our boys got into this shit. There WILL NOT be multiple crazy out of order time jumps ala 'Pulp Fiction.' Just this very first one. FYI.  
> *I am in no way a professional at combat (either with fists or firearms) and I am 100% sure that some of the stuff that goes down in this fic is not realistic. This is more of a "Hollywood Style" sort of action fic. So, if you are a professional, just know that this is gonna make you shake your head and be like "Guuuuuurl, what?" Sorry. Not really though. I'm rarely sorry about anything.  
> *SPOILER: There WILL BE deaths in this story!! If someone died in canon, they are in danger of being on the chopping block, and could die--with the exception of the four mains. Dean, Cas, Sam and Gabe might get hurt, but they WILL NOT die. Everyone else is fair game. I hate that I have to put this, but I really don't want anyone doing the shocked Pokemon face when someone who died in canon bites it in this fic. I will NOT be posting at the beginning of a chapter if someone dies though. Once the shots are fired, just be prepared. You have been warned, kiddos.
> 
> I do not own Supernatural, or the characters in any way--I'm just making them do stuff in my mind and then writing it down.

__  


 

_New Year’s Eve, December 31_ _st_ _—8:15pm_

 

Dean Winchester raked his hand across his cheek and collapsed in the plush desk chair.  It creaked and moved under his weight and he settled back into it as comfortably as he could.  He swept his legs up and let them fall heavily to the top of the ornate desk, knocking some of the contents to the ground.  His face was blank as he watched a framed photo fall to the floor with his movements. There was a twinge of guilt, but he didn’t bend down to retrieve the picture.  Shaking his head and glaring at the empty room around him, Dean took in the sight of Gabriel’s overly decorated office.

 

At this point, Dean was beyond furious.  He didn’t understand how Cas could brush his feelings off in such a way.  He wanted to go back to the event, grab his boyfriend by the lapels of his suit and shake him.  But now was not the time, or the place. He would wait, bide his time. They could figure this all out after they were home and both of them had time to cool off.  He silently thanked Gabriel for allowing him the use of his office to just get away from it all for a moment. He knew that if he had stayed there surrounded by people, an open bar, and the last words Cas had said, things would end badly.  He didn’t want to say something he would regret in the morning.

 

He hadn’t wanted to come tonight.  In fact, this charity event was just about the last place on earth that he wanted to be.  But Cas had thought it would be a good thing—maybe Dean would be able to get some closure.  But Dean knew that closure was overrated, and he wasn’t expecting anything tonight other than a shitty time.  He had only agreed to come because he wanted to show Castiel that he was _trying_.  His boyfriend had gone to all the trouble to get them tickets and Dean had never mastered the art of saying ‘no’ to Cas’ big blue eyes.  Cas wanted to make sure that Dean was finally over his ex, Bartholomew Boyle—philanthropist extraordinaire—and Dean knew that he was going to do his best to give his boyfriend what he wanted.  But Bartholomew had really done a number on Dean, and he wasn’t quite sure if he was even capable of moving on. He was going to give it his best effort though.

 

So here they were, wandering around the main exhibit hall of the city’s museum wearing suits and ties and horribly uncomfortable shoes.  As far as Dean was concerned, the only good thing about this whole situation was that there was an open bar. When they first arrived, he had made straight for it, hoping that a strong spirit would make this whole night a little more bearable.  Cas had tried to cut him off after three and asked him not to make a scene.

 

Dean knew that his response was an overreaction, slamming the tumbler of whiskey down on the table and glaring at Cas while hissing, “This is all your fault you know.”  Usually Cas just brushed off his moods, but tonight his lover had looked horribly stricken at Dean’s words. It was just Dean’s luck that they had ended up arguing loud enough for Gabriel to come over and separate them.  Dean knew that he would have to find a way to make it up to Gabe at some point. His and Cas’ scene may have cost Gabriel his job.

 

Unsurprisingly, due to the man’s sweet tooth, there was a small, crystal dish with wrapped chocolates inside sitting on the corner of Gabe’s desk.  Dean plucked one out and played with it for a moment before unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. While he was in here sulking, he knew that Gabriel would be giving a lecture to Cas about their shared behavior.  After all, this was Gabe’s place of business, and he couldn’t afford to have a charity event mucked up because his brother got into a fight with his slightly inebriated boyfriend. Dean knew that he’d get a dressing down from the shorter man as soon as he slunk back to the party as well.  Gabriel certainly had a way with words for situations like this. Cas had told him stories about the two of them growing up together. Dean wasn’t looking forward to Gabe’s wrath.

 

He’d have to come out sometime and suck it up—he _did_ know that.  But Dean was more inclined to stay locked in his soon-to-be brother-in-law’s office for the time being.  At least until the guest of honor left for the night. He thought back to his time with Bartholomew and knew that the other man never stayed long, even at his own events.  Dean figured he had another twenty minutes or so until the speeches were done and he’d be safe to come out without running into his ex again.

 

Huffing out a breath, Dean’s eyes narrowed at the thought of Bartholomew.  None of this was actually Cas’ fault. If anything, it was Bartholomew’s. Dean knew that, deep down.  But it was easier to take out his anger on his current lover; even though he knew that was six shades of fucked up.  He owed Castiel an apology. He just wasn’t ready to give it yet. Maybe later, he’d call his brother Sam, and convince him to go out for a few drinks.  That way, he wouldn’t have to face Cas until the morning—Dean was awesome at avoidance. He also knew that Sammy would be there for him, as long as he wasn’t working.  Sam knew more about the situation that most people.

 

Making up his mind to stay locked in Gabe’s office for a while longer, Dean leaned back in the chair, trying to get comfortable.  He knew that it wasn’t going to happen while he was wearing these god-awful dress shoes. Shifting around, he pulled at the thin laces and kicked the offending footwear under the desk.

 

Just as he was about to sink back into the chair once more, he heard a faint popping sound from down the hall.  Eyes narrowed, Dean was on his feet in moments. He was reaching under his suit jacket for his piece as he darted toward the door.  He didn’t need all of his FBI training to know a gunshot when he heard one. Thankfully, he had the foresight to strap on his equipment before leaving the house that evening.  He knew that Cas would have told him to leave the gun at home if he had known, but Dean didn’t feel comfortable when he wasn’t strapped. All that training, he supposed.

 

There was another faint pop and the sound of collective raised voices.  Dean pulled on the door just as his cell phone began to ring. It was Castiel’s custom sound.  Dean fumbled with his pockets and pulled the phone out, looking blankly at the screen for a split second.  Cas’ name and picture were flashing at him. Dean pressed the green button on the screen and the call came to life.

 

“Cas,” he said loudly.

 

There was no response.  Dean could hear movement and scraping sounds through the receiver, but Cas wasn’t speaking.  It sounded like a bizarre pocket dial. Somewhere close to wherever Castiel was standing, Dean heard a high pitched scream that was abruptly cut off.  Something that sounded like the crack of flesh on flesh came through next.

 

“Dean,” Cas’ voice was almost a whisper as it came through the phone.

 

“Cas!” Dean said, trying to keep his voice calm.  “What the fuck is going on? I thought I heard gunshots.”

 

“You did,” Cas’s tone was low and it sounded muffled.  “Dean, there are three of them. They—“

 

The call cut off abruptly and all Dean could hear was the sound of his own breathing and a ringing in his ears.  He pulled up Sam’s number and tried to raise his brother on the phone. The call wouldn’t go through. Glancing down at his phone, he saw that there were no bars in the upper corner.  That couldn’t be right though. They were downtown, where there was plenty of service. Dean tried once more before he gave up. Cas had said there were gunshots.

 

Dean knew that he didn’t have much time and he was going to have to do everything he could to fix this.  He had to find a way to get ahold of Sam and get on top of this situation. Dean Winchester had known when they first arrived, that this was going to be an epically shitty night.  He just had no idea how bad it was going to get before it was over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three Days Ago...Our Story Begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Semi-Public BJs

_ Three Days Ago, December 28th—9:44am… _

 

Waking up next to Castiel Novak was probably the best feeling in the world, according to Dean Winchester.  It had been just over three years, and Dean still revelled in the joy that sharing a bed with this man brought him.  If someone had asked Dean back then, he never would have thought that he could be this happy. Curling his arm around Cas’ trim waist, Dean pulled his lover toward him and buried his head into Castiel’s neck.

 

Ten years ago, Dean had just started out as an agent for the Bureau, and while he enjoyed his job, his love life was seriously lacking.  Dean could remember the sick feeling he had in the pit of his stomach when he had woken up on that last morning with his ex-boyfriend, Bartholomew Boyle.  He had known that something was wrong and had immediately ran to the bathroom to throw up. The next thing he did was to call his brother, Sam, to help him pack.  Once everything that Dean held dear was boxed up and in his car, Dean had officially sworn off relationships. He did his level best to try and convince himself that the single life was the way to go.  He had never wanted, or expected Castiel.

 

Funnily enough, Cas hadn’t been looking for anything either, but here they were, living the life of domestic bliss that Dean had never dared hope for after his experiences with Bartholomew.  Dean had been so broken from his past, that he had begun to get a reputation among the other agents for having a death wish. The night he had stormed into that rusted out warehouse and took a bullet in his leg for his troubles was the night that things had finally turned around.

 

After surgery, he had been sent to the hospital’s physical therapy department, grumbling the entire way.  Dean didn’t want to be monitored by some science nerd with an exercise ball. He wanted to get back into the field.  Sam had forcibly placed him in the wheelchair and personally escorted him down to the PT room. Dean’s protestations had died on his lips as his brother wheeled him through the door and stopped his chair in front of the most beautiful man that Dean had ever laid eyes on.

 

Cas had been formal and kind of a hard-ass back then.  He wouldn’t help Dean when he saw the agent struggling with an exercise.  He just watched, usually looking disappointed. Dean wanted to see what his physical therapist looked like with a smile on his face and had asked him out within three minutes of their first encounter.  Cas had refused, saying that he didn’t socialize with patients. Two months later, Dean no longer walked with a limp and Castiel was readying his discharge paperwork that would finally allow him to get back to work.

 

The therapist signed his name to the last sheet very slowly and then handed it to Dean.  When Dean had taken the paper, their eyes met, and he was well and truly swept away. Cas’ gaze burned into him and Dean remembered swallowing hard.  “You know, you’re not my patient any longer,” Cas had finally said. To this day, Dean had no idea how he had managed to respond to that. He just knew that seconds later, they were in each other’s arms and he was being kissed with more passion than he had ever felt.

 

Dean always looked back on that first kiss fondly.  If it had been up to him, they would have fucked right there in the therapy room.  Cas had shown enough restraint to at least hold off until later that night. When Dean arrived at Cas’ apartment that evening, they had both agreed that this was just a sex thing.  No feelings. Neither of them wanted a relationship.

 

Somehow, one night had turned into two; and then a week.  After four months of spending each night in Castiel’s arms, Dean realized that something had changed.  He  _ wanted  _ this man.  He wanted Cas to be all his.  For the first time in seven years, Dean wanted to take the next step with another human being.  Of course, that realization had caused him to panic and leave; ignoring Cas’ texts for almost a full week.

 

The rainy night that Cas pounded on the front door, his out-of-fashion trench coat dripping on the welcome mat, Dean realized what a mistake he had made.  Cas gave him no inch. He simply berated him for running, and expressed eloquently that he too had felt the change in their situation. Cas wanted to try for something more as well.

 

Within forty-eight hours they were living together and had finally told their respective brothers that they were now dating.  Sam had been surprised, due to Dean’s past, but very supportive. Gabriel had made illusions to their sex life and gave them a pie that he had baked from scratch before kicking them out of his place.  Dean and Castiel had been almost perfectly happy ever since.

 

As the morning sun streaked through the curtains, Dean lifted his face and placed a soft kiss to Castiel’s cheek.  He relished how good his boyfriend felt with a little stubble. Dean kissed him again, and chuckled as Cas pushed him away, his eyes still firmly shut.  “Too early,” Cas grumbled into the pillow.

 

“It’s almost ten,” Dean slid away and swung his feet down to the floor.

 

“We’ve talked about this Dean,” Cas opened one eye and glared at him.  “I am to be allowed to sleep until at least noon on my days off. This is unacceptable.  I don’t like it.”

 

“I’ll make you coffee,” Dean leaned down and kissed Cas on the top of his head.

 

Both of Cas’ eyes were now open and he was watching Dean warily.  “Bacon?”

 

“Sure,” Dean shrugged.  “I’ll fry up a whole pound, if you want.”

 

“Let me know when it’s ready,” Cas pulled the pillow over his face and fidgeted a little to find a comfortable position.  Dean smiled affectionately at his boyfriend as he quietly closed the door.

He padded down the hall to the kitchen in his bare feet and opened the fridge.  Pulling out bacon and orange juice, Dean tilted his head and contemplated bagels with cream cheese as well.  That sounded good, so Dean grabbed some of that as well. He busied himself with fixing breakfast, enjoying the smell of bacon frying.

 

His cell phone rang and Dean turned toward where he had placed it on the edge of the counter.  Sam’s name popped up and Dean immediately answered the call. “Hey, Jerk,” he laughed into the phone.

 

“’Morning, Bitch,” Sam responded out of habit.

 

“I know that you are aware that I’m on vacation this week,” Dean started.  “And we already have our plans figured out for New Year’s, so why are you bothering me?”

 

Sam sighed.  “Dean.”

 

“What?”

 

“Bobby asked me to call you,” Sam sounded off and Dean didn’t like it.

 

“About what?”

 

“You know that the Bureau has been keeping an eye on Bartholomew since…well, you know.”

 

Dean grimaced and flipped some of the bacon over in the pan with a pair of tongs.  “Yeah, Sammy, I got it.” It came out harsher than he had intended.

 

“Well, he has a charity gala on New Year’s Eve and Bobby just got the official guest list from the museum,” Sam said.

 

“Okay?” Dean wasn’t sure where this was going.

 

“Your name is on the list,” Sam said.  “So is Cas’.”

 

“What?” Dean almost shouted.  “Why? What the hell, Sammy?”

 

“That was my reaction too,” Sam sighed again.  “Why are you going to that? You’ll probably run into him and I know that’s the last thing that you want.”

 

“I’m not going,” Dean shouted.

 

“According to the VIP list, you are,” Sam said patiently.  “Bobby just wanted me to check up on you and find out what was going on.  We have something in place for this event and Bobby really doesn’t want you anywhere near it.”

 

The floor in the hallway creaked a little from a warped board and Dean looked up to see Cas sleepily walking into the kitchen.  His boyfriend’s hair was sticking up all over the place and he was rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I think I know what’s going on,” Dean said lowly.  “I’ve gotta go, Sammy.”

 

“Dean—“

 

Whatever Sam had been about to say was cut off as Dean hung up the phone and looked hard at Cas.  His boyfriend looked incredibly hot at the moment, but Dean did everything he could to tamp down his desire and give way to the first licks of anger that he had begun to feel.  “Something you want to tell me, Angel?”

 

Blinking, Cas looked up at him in confusion and said, “Good morning?”

 

“Not that.”

 

“Then I’m not sure what you want me to say, Dean,” Cas shook his head and slid onto one of the high backed stools of their breakfast bar.

 

“Sam called,” Dean said, hoping that would prompt Castiel to fess up.

 

Cas just looked at him blankly.  “Coffee?” he finally said.

 

Dean filled up a mug that looked like a beehive and placed it in front of his boyfriend.  Wisps of steam curled upwards into the air and Cas took a long sip before sighing and closing his eyes for a moment.  “Sam knows you’re on vacation.”

 

“He does,” Dean gave a short nod.  “Any idea why he would be bothering me with work shit right now?”

 

Castiel furrowed his brow and tilted his head.  “No.”

 

“Something about a party on New Year’s Eve,” Dean narrowed his eyes.  “And our names on the guest list?”

 

Pink flushed into Castiel’s cheeks and he pursed his lips, bowing his head.  “Oh,” he managed. “That.”

 

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said.  “That.”

 

Cas lifted his head and looked directly into Dean’s eyes.  “I was going to tell you.”

 

“When?” Dean snapped.  “After we were already there?”

 

“I just,” Cas took a deep breath.  “I just thought that it would be good for you.  You know,  _ healing _ .  You could see him and maybe say your piece.  You could possibly put all of that behind you.”  He glanced down at his coffee and had the decency to look ashamed.  “I thought it would help.”

 

“I don’t need help.”

 

“You do, Dean,” Cas said firmly.  “You’ve been seeing the Bureau’s shrink for almost a decade, and you aren’t moving past this… _ thing _ with Bartholomew.”

 

Dean grit his teeth and turned back toward the bacon, which was now a little burnt.  “I’m fine.”

 

Standing up and walking around the counter to stand behind Dean, Cas slipped his arms around Dean’s waist, resting his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder.  “You’re not fine.”

 

Dean knew that Cas was right, but he was also a stubborn son-of-a-bitch and wasn’t ready to admit that quite yet.  “Look,” he started. “I only ever told you the surface level stuff. It went much deeper than you know. Pretty much only Bobby and Sammy know the entire fucking drama.  I know I should have been up-front about it, and that’s my fault—but we were just starting out and I didn’t want to freak you out with ‘ex-drama.’ This is a big deal, Cas.” 

 

Dean looked his boyfriend in the eyes, hoping to make his point.  “I know you think this is a good way to ‘heal,’ but going to his stupid charity party isn’t going to make all of this go away.” Dean knew he sounded a little whiny, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  He  _ really _ didn’t want to do this.  And his shitty past with Bartholomew Boyle  _ was  _ a fucking hornet’s nest of bad.

 

Cas waited a while before he spoke.  He sounded contrite and borderline emotional.  “It might be a start though,” Cas tried again, pressing a kiss to Dean’s neck.  “I’m sorry,” he said lowly. “I should have discussed it with you before I asked Gabriel for the tickets.  I was trying to help.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Dean twisted around so that he was facing his lover and looked Cas in the eyes.  He could never actually stay mad at Castiel. “I know,” he said. “But I don’t want help.”

 

“Dean,” Cas said after a moment.  “I want this relationship to go to the next level.”  He took a deep breath before continuing. “I want this to be forever.”

 

Dean’s breath caught.  “I want that too.” And he really did.

 

“But I don’t think we can take the next step if you’re always looking over your shoulder and comparing me to a man who betrayed you almost a decade ago.”  Cas looked as though he was going to cry. Dean hated it when his boyfriend cried. “I feel like there’s this other person in our relationship that is always lurking around the corner waiting to sabotage us.  That’s why I got the tickets,” he explained. “I thought that if you could see him, on neutral ground, maybe we could start to move on and see where  _ we  _ can go from here.  I should have spoken with you before I begged Gabriel for the tickets.  For that, I’m sorry.”

 

Dean didn’t speak for a few minutes.  He just tightened his grip on Castiel’s shoulders and actually let the words roll around in his mind.  Finally, he placed a finger under Cas’ chin and lifted his boyfriend’s face. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”  Cas didn’t respond. “I’m sorry Cas,” Dean said, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated apologizing. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew that Cas had a point.  Hell, Sammy had said basically the same thing to him for years. He just never wanted to listen.

 

Leaning in slightly, Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s chastely and breathed in the scent of his incredibly sexy lover.  “Okay,” he said, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Cas’. “We’ll go. If that’s what you want. We can go.”

 

Cas gave him just the hint of a smile and Dean felt his heart melt.  He was willing to do anything for this man. Even if it was literally the last thing in the world that he wanted to be doing.  “Thank you, Dean,” Cas said, giving him a soft kiss.

 

“Anything for you, Angel,” Dean chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.  He glanced down at the fry pan on the stove top and grimaced at the blackened bacon lying in still-hot grease.  “You hungry?”

 

Nodding, Cas slipped away from him and began to fill some glasses with the orange juice.  They piled up their plates with food and sat at the small table in the kitchen, across from one another.  “I’ll have to clear it all with Bobby,” Dean said, mentioning his boss and surrogate father.

 

Furrowing his brow, Cas looked up at him.  “Why?”

 

“I don’t know,” Dean shrugged and stuffed some burnt bacon into his mouth.  “When Sam called he said that they have something going on with this event and that Bobby doesn’t want me involved.  I’ll just have to get the ‘okay’ that I can actually attend.”

 

“What would the FBI want with a charity event at my brother’s museum?” Cas asked, sounding concerned.

 

Shrugging again, Dean said, “I don’t know.”  He still hadn’t told Cas the whole story about Bartholomew.  The details were need to know, even amongst the agents. Even if it wasn’t, Dean really didn’t like talking about the fact that his company was investigating his ex-boyfriend.  It was kind of humiliating, especially when all of the facts were laid bare. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he lied smoothly.

 

Cas seemed to buy it, and proceeded to happily bite into his bagel, which was towering with cream cheese.  He chewed thoughtfully and managed to smile across the small table at Dean. Dean reciprocated, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.  He was going to talk to Bobby as soon as possible and find out exactly what the hell was going on. And if he could, he’d do this simple thing for Cas and hope that it was enough.

 

“We’ll have to go shopping either later today or tomorrow and get us both decent suits,” Cas hummed.

 

Dean’s hackles went up.  “What? Why?”

 

Cas smiled at him innocently, but Dean wasn’t fooled for a second.  He knew that look all too well. “It’s Black Tie.” Cas tried to hide his laugh behind his beehive coffee mug.

 

Dean narrowed his eyes and grumbled under his breath.  This was going to suck even more than he had originally thought.

* * *

 

 

Dean knew that he was going to have to call Bobby, but he put it off to join his boyfriend in the shower after they had cleaned up the mess in the kitchen.  Stepping under the hot spray of water, Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head back under the stream. The muscles in his back loosened slightly and his lips fell open.

 

The glass door of the shower clicked open and Cas stood there, naked, watching him.  “You look incredibly sensual right now, Dean.”

 

Glancing down, Dean noticed how hard his boyfriend already was.  He quirked his lips and held out a hand to Cas. “Come here and give me some company,” he requested.

 

Cas stepped over the small lip of the shower and joined him, closing the door with a snap.  Dean let his eyes rove over his boyfriend’s muscular chest, following trails of water with his eyes.  Not for the first time, Dean mused at how lucky he was. Castiel Novak was one sexy man, and he was all Dean’s.

 

He pressed an open palm to Cas’ chest and stepped toward him.  His cock twitched as he reached behind Cas and turned on the second shower head, so that they could both feel the incredible warmth of the water.  Their chests brushed and Dean lifted his lips to Cas’ mouth, kissing him deeply. “I feel as though I should apologize for what happened earlier,” Cas whispered into Dean’s mouth.

 

Grunting, he felt Cas’ hand wrap around his dick, complete with a squeeze that made Dean shift his hips into the touch.  Cas began to stroke him lightly and Dean’s lips parted at the sensations that were flowing through his body. He lazily pumped his hips to get more friction.  The soap that he had covered himself with earlier was dripping down his body and surrounding his pulsing cock. Cas’ grip was firm around him and Dean sighed. “You’re not getting down on your knees on this tile,” Dean said roughly.  “No blowjob.”

 

“Well, then,” Cas said slyly.  “Can I do this?” And he swept his thumb over the slit of Dean’s cock.

 

The FBI agent almost came undone at that moment before Cas was gently squeezing him at the base and staving off his orgasm.  “Yeah, Angel,” Dean sighed. “You can definitely do that again.”

 

Cas leaned in and whispered to him above the rushing water of the shower, “I’m going to get you so dirty.”  Dean closed his eyes and tried to breathe through his nose. Cas kept stroking him, so very slowly. “And then, I’m going to clean you back up again,” Cas’ voice was so low.  Dean loved how it got all gravelly when his boyfriend would dirty talk to him.

 

“Yeah,” he moaned.  “I wanna be dirty.”

 

“You’re such a dirty, naughty boy, aren’t you?” Cas spoke into his ear.

 

“Yeah, I am,” Dean nodded his head as Cas’ hand sped up.  He was so close, and hearing his boyfriend talk to him like that in his deep sex voice always got to him.  “I’m so bad.”

 

“Yes you are,” Cas whispered.  “If we weren’t in the shower, I’d bend you over my knee and spank your ass until it was red.”

 

A moan slipped out of Dean’s mouth at the image.  Every once in a while, they would spice things up a bit in the bedroom like that and Dean could hardly admit how turned on he would get when Cas’ spanked him.  It made him feel a little weird, but Cas enjoyed it too, so Dean tried to push away his feelings of embarrassment and concentrate on how much he really loved it.  

 

“Would you like that, Dean?” Cas asked him.  “Would you like it if I spanked you so hard you were crying out for me?  Maybe I’d even slide one of your toys into that tight ass of yours while I spanked you.  Fill you up so good and make your cute ass so fucking red? You want that, don’t you?

 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean was gripping the slippery tiles of the shower and pistoning his hips quickly into Cas’ fist.  Yeah, he wanted that. That actually sounded really fucking amazing right now. His knees were getting weaker and he could feel his hips shaking with exertion.  “Yeah, Angel, I want that.”

 

Cas gave him a little squeeze, and the sensations sent Dean over the edge.  He came hard, spurting come over Cas’ hand while his boyfriend whispered into his ear about how naughty he was and how much he wanted to slap Dean’s backside.  When Dean finally stopped shaking with orgasm, Cas smiled at him and said, “Good boy,” and Dean melted. He pressed himself against Cas’ body and just hung there for a moment, trying to recover.

 

After a minute, he chuckled a little and looked up into Cas’ eyes.  “We are definitely going to have to do that tonight.”

 

“I’d be happy to,” Cas winked at him.  “Didn’t realize how much you actually enjoyed it when I spanked you.”

 

“It’s so fucking hot, Cas,” Dean admitted.

 

“You should see it from my end,” Cas laughed.  “You are so sexy when you’re over my knee and just shaking with desire.  So beautiful.”

 

Dean felt himself blush, but he enjoyed the compliment.  He loved making Cas happy and a little spanking seemed to do wonders for them both.  “I promise,” Cas said lowly. “That if you’re a good boy while we buy suits today, then I will most certainly reward you tonight and do all the things you like.”  He winked at Dean. That was an agreement he could get behind. Nothing like a little incentive to make shopping slightly more bearable.

 

“It’s a deal.”

 

True to his word, Cas cleaned him up, rubbing soap down his body in gentle and loving ministrations.  Dean let himself enjoy the pampering. Once they were all cleaned up, they stepped out into the steamy bathroom and toweled off quickly.  Since Dean was on vacation, he threw on a pair of jeans and a plain black shirt. Cas was a little more dressed up, even going so far as to put on a tie, but that was just his style.

 

They locked up behind themselves and got into Dean’s car.  Starting up the engine, Dean turned to give Cas a quick smile before asking where they were headed.  Castiel gave him the name of an upscale men’s store near the shopping mall. Dean grit his teeth and began to drive.  They pulled into a parking space fifteen minutes later, and although Dean unbuckled his seatbelt, he remained sitting in the car.  He waved his phone at Cas and said, “I’m going to call Bobby really quick. I’ll meet you in there.”

 

“Don’t take too long,” Cas said, frowning slightly. 

 

Dean watched his boyfriend walk away and enter the store before he clicked on his phone and dialed up his boss.  The line rang twice before Bobby answered with a gruff, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, son?”

 

“I know, Bobby,” Dean said.  He quickly ran down his conversation with Castiel, pointing out that he wasn’t really okay with the plan, but he was going to do it anyway for his boyfriend.  Bobby listened quietly as Dean filled him in. “So what’s going on from your end?”

 

“You know that we’ve had our eye on Bartholomew Boyle since all that shit went down between the two of you,” Bobby sighed.  “I’ve kept you out of it for the most part, just because of the conflict of interest.”

 

“I know,” Dean was grateful.

 

“I have my suspicions,” Bobby said.  “But in the past few weeks, Bradbury has picked up on some interesting email correspondence,” Bobby referred to the Bureau’s resident tech genius, Charlie.  Dean liked Charlie, and considered her a good friend. “We think that Boyle is going to try something at this charity thing,” Bobby laid it out. “It looks like he might finally be making his move—enough that his hands will be dirty.”

 

Dean’s eyes went wide.  Bartholomew  _ never  _ did anything himself.  He had ‘people’ to do all of his dirty work for him, which was why they had been chasing him for nearly ten years with no luck.  “Seriously?”

 

Bobby huffed into the phone.  “I’m as surprised as you are,” he said.  “But yeah, it’s looking like this could be our window.”  The FBI director paused for a moment and Dean could feel the tension through the phone.  “I don’t want you anywhere near this, Dean. If something goes wrong, Boyle could walk if anyone thinks you were involved in this.”

 

Dean nodded, even though he knew Bobby couldn’t see him.  “Yeah,” he managed. “I get it. But Cas is pretty adamant about this.”

 

“He’s a stubborn little shit, isn’t he?” Bobby griped.

 

“He can be,” Dean agreed with a smile.

 

After a moment, Bobby sighed.  “Fine,” he said. “Go to this shindig, whatever.  But if  _ anything _ seems off, you get your pretty little ass out of there pronto and let the rest of the team handle it, got it?”

 

“Ten-four, Bobby,” Dean gave a sarcastic little salute and smiled at his reflection in the rear-view mirror.  “I’ll stay out of it.”

 

“Good,” Bobby said.  “We’ve been working on this for way too long to fuck it all up now.”

 

“I know,” Dean was serious once more.

 

“For the record,” Bobby’s tone softened.  “I think Cas may be on to something with this scheme.  You need closure, boy. This could be the beginning of it.  You’ve got to stop letting what happened color your whole life.”

 

Sighing, Dean raked his hand down his face.  He knew Bobby was right. This had gone on long enough.  It was time to move on. Plenty of people had shitty experiences in relationships.  Granted, his was a little worse than most of the things he'd heard in the past, but he knew that it was time to try and move on.  “I know, Bobby.”

 

A sharp rap on the driver’s side window had Dean start in his seat.  Cas was bending down and glaring at him through the glass. He motioned to his watch and Dean held up his hand and nodded at his boyfriend.  “I’ve got to go, Bobby,” he said. “Just try to keep me in the loop somewhat so that I’m not walking in there blind, okay?”

 

“I will if I can,” Bobby said.  “No promises.”

 

They said quick goodbyes and hung up.  Dean opened the car door and peeled himself out.  Cas was frowning at him. “It’s been almost twenty minutes,” Cas said to him as Dean locked up the Impala.

 

“What can I say,” Dean shrugged.  “Bobby’s a talker.”

 

“That’s a lie, and you know it,” Cas retorted.  “Come on,” he took Dean’s elbow gently. “I’ve picked out a few things I want you to try on.”

 

“I can’t wait,” Dean ground his teeth together.

 

“That is also a lie,” Cas said, giving him a small smile.  “Remember our deal?”

 

Boy, did he!  Dean’s steps picked up as they entered the store and he was led toward the back where the fitting rooms were located.  He allowed the sales associate to wax poetic about the three suits that Cas had chosen for him and tried to keep a smile on his face.  Eventually he grabbed the closest suit and retreated to the dressing room. “Don’t forget to come out and show me what they look like,” Cas said lightly as Dean closed the door behind him.

 

Grumbling, Dean undressed and began to put the dark, navy suit on.  It actually fit quite well, once he straightened it out on his frame.  The color worked well with his skin tone too, so that was a plus. Maybe he’d get lucky and Cas would just let him buy this one so he wouldn’t have to try on the others.  He doubted it, but he could hope.

 

“Dean?” Cas called.

 

“Yeah, coming,” Dean said with a snicker.

 

He stepped out of the fitting room and held his arms out, displaying the suit for Castiel.  His boyfriend stared at him with a critical eye for a moment before giving a short nod. “That one is actually quite nice.”

 

“I know,” Dean winked.  “I’m a looker.”

 

“You’re passable, I suppose,” Cas quipped.  “That one won’t work though, I was going to wear navy and we would look ridiculous if we were matching.  Will you try the black one?”

 

“Sure, Angel,” Dean said, scooping up the black tuxedo and draping it over his arm.  He glanced around the area and noticed that the sales associate was no longer around.  “Wanna join me?” Dean gestured to the fitting room.

 

Castiel glanced around and noticed they were alone.  He smiled ferally at Dean and stepped toward him. “You’re incorrigible.”  They stepped into the dressing room and shut the door behind them.

 

While Dean changed, Cas simply watched him undress.  Dean took full advantage, attempting a little strip-tease in the tiny space.  Cas smiled at him indulgently. Once Dean had the black number on, he turned toward his boyfriend and raised his eyebrows.  Cas breathed in slowly. “You look amazing,” he complimented.

 

“Thanks,” Dean said happily.

 

“Good enough to eat,” Cas raised one eyebrow and pinned Dean with a look.  “Of course, after this morning, I think it’s your turn.”

 

Dean licked his lips and nodded silently.  He placed his palms on Cas’ hips and lightly brushed the other man’s sides.  They both leaned in for a kiss as Dean palmed Cas’ through his boyfriend’s grey slacks.  Cas was incredibly hard for him. Dean pushed his tongue into Castiel’s mouth and gave his boyfriend’s cock a little squeeze.  He got a moan of pleasure in return.

Sinking down to his knees, Dean pulled on the zipper of Cas’ pants.  Once he was kneeling before his lover, he reached in, and worked Cas out into the open.  Cas’ pants hung low around his hips, undone as Dean leaned in a licked a stripe up the underside of Castiel’s thick cock.  He loved the taste of his boyfriend.

 

Opening his mouth, Dean engulfed the head of Cas’ prick and sucked deeply.  Cas moaned softly and jolted his hips, pushing him further down Dean’s throat.  Dean relaxed his muscles and pulled his boyfriend in as deep as he could. Dean was gripping Cas’ hips tightly and pulling him into his mouth as far as he could handle.  Cas leaned his head back against the wall of the dressing room with a thunk, his eyes closed.

 

Running his fingers through Dean’s hair, Cas quietly praised him as Dean sucked him off.  Dean took one hand off of Cas’ hip and reached in to lightly cup his lovers testicles. He massaged Cas’ balls while he licked and sucked up and down the hard shaft in his mouth.  Cas gripped his hair tightly and began to thrust into him and Dean was delirious with the feeling. Sucking dick was one of his favorite things to do and the added bonus of knowing they could be caught was making him rock hard as well.

 

“Just like that Dean,” Cas moaned.  “So good!”

 

Castiel bucked his hips and Dean hollowed out his cheeks with a particularly hard suck.  He glanced up and made eye contact with his boyfriend who was gazing at him with adoration.  Dean hummed around the cock in his mouth and was rewarded with a soft brush of Cas’ fingers on his cheek.  “You look so fucking sexy like this,” Cas complimented. “Love to see those lips wrapped around me.”

 

Dean just began to lick harder, forcing Cas’ dick almost to the back of his throat.  This was insanely hot. Soft footfalls came outside of the door and Dean almost pulled his mouth off of Cas.  His boyfriend gently kept him in place, pushing himself into Dean’s hot mouth once more. “Is everything fitting okay?” the sales associate was back.

 

Meeting Cas’ eyes again, Dean continued to pleasure his lover as Cas said, “Everything is fine, thank you.”  Dean was impressed at how calm Cas sounded. The footfalls retreated and they were alone once more. “You have to hurry up, Dean,” Cas practically begged.  All traces of composure gone.

 

Squeezing lightly on Cas’ balls, Dean gave another hard suck.  He knew his boyfriend would finish soon. “Dean,” Cas gasped. “I don’t want to ruin this suit, so you’re going to have to swallow everything.  Do you understand?”

 

Dean nodded as much as he could and worked Cas over with his tongue.  The fingers in his hair gripped harder. “Good boy. I’m almost there,” Cas announced.  His hips stuttered and Dean could taste some of the warm pre-cum leaking out of Cas. He was psyched, because he loved swallowing, and knowing that he had to get every drop was just the challenge he was up for.

 

“Dean,” Cas gasped.  Dean felt Cas’ muscles clench and then the warm fluid filled his mouth.  Dean began to swallow in earnest, taking as much as he could, drinking Cas down.  His boyfriend seemed to come forever—minutes, at least. Dean just kept sucking and swallowing as the semen hit his tongue, loving the taste.

 

When he began to feel Cas go soft in his mouth, he sucked a few more times, in an attempt to make sure his lover was as clean as possible before he released Cas from his lips.  “Wow,” Dean said breathily, looking up to Cas’ face. Cas ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, his dick, lying on his thigh, his pants almost down to his knees. “That was fucking hot,” Dean said as he pulled himself up.

 

He leaned in for a kiss and let Cas taste himself on Dean’s tongue.  “It was incredibly hot,” Cas agreed. The pink in his cheeks was dulling and Dean felt Cas reach between them, tucking his dick away.  Then, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, Cas said, “I think we’ll take the black one for you. You look very sexy in it.”

 

Cas pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek and opened the fitting room door.  “I’ll meet you at the register,” he said, and then he was gone.

 

Dean blinked at the closed door of the dressing room for a moment and then shook his head.  He could never get over how quickly Cas could recover from an orgasm. He was careful to hang the suit back up as he changed.  After a quick glance in the mirror to make sure he didn’t have come on his face, he went to meet his boyfriend up front.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner before the dirty sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW  
> Smut, Spanking, Sex Toys

_ December 28 _ _ th _ _ —6:25pm… _

 

As something of an apology for that morning’s argument, Cas insisted that Dean spend the rest of the day doing whatever he wanted.  Dean took a nap, and then read for a little while. When he finally came out of their bedroom, he found Cas bending over the oven with big blue mitts on his hands.  He peeked around his boyfriend and almost screamed in delight. Cas was pulling a giant pie out and Dean could see the steam rising from the crust.

 

Castiel placed the pie on the stove top and turned toward Dean, who was already reaching out with his fingers.  Cas batted his hands away and laughed. “It’s still hot,” he chastised. 

 

Dean shrugged and broke a piece off of the side, popping it into his mouth.  “This is so good, Angel,” Dean said as he chewed.

 

“It’s cherry,” Cas informed him.

 

“My favorite,” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

 

“The last time I made pie, it was apple, and  _ that  _ was your favorite,” Cas pointed out.

 

“I love all pies,” Dean smiled.

 

Cas swiped at him with an oven mitt and Dean jumped out of the way laughing as he snatched another piece of crust.  “Sam is coming over for dinner tonight,” Castiel reminded him.

 

Dean grimaced.  “I forgot about that,” he admitted.  “What should I make?”

 

“I’m already cooking,” Cas reassured him.  “Just relax. He should be here any time.”

 

Opening the fridge, Dean pulled out two bottles of beer.  He popped the tops and handed one to Cas. They clinked the bottle necks together and each took a swig just as there was a knock at the front door.  “Speak of the devil,” Dean said.

 

He greeted his brother enthusiastically with a hug and offered Sam a beer as he pulled him into the kitchen.  “Hello, Sam,” Cas waved from the stove.

 

“Hey, Cas,” Sam smiled.  Sam turned to Dean with a look and said, “Can we talk for a second?  In private?”

 

Dean looked at Castiel who waved them away.  The brothers walked into the living room and sat on the large grey sofa.  Dean immediately put his feet up on the coffee table. Sam bounced his knees as though he was nervous.  “What’s up Sammy?” Dean took another pull of his beer.

 

“I spoke with Bobby,” Sam said quietly.

 

“And?” Dean looked hard at his brother.

 

“We’re going to have a team at the charity event,” Sam said.  “It’s all people you know, but Bobby doesn’t want you involved.  I can try to keep you up to date, but I don’t know how much information I’ll actually be able to tell you.  Sorry.”

 

“I know,” Dean said easily.  “I called him this morning.”

 

“So,” Sam looked hard at him.  “You’re actually going to go to this thing?”

 

Dean tried to look nonchalant.  “Yeah,” he said. “Cas thinks it will give me closure or some shit and that maybe it will help me to move past everything.  I don’t know. Whatever.” He took another drink.

 

Sam watched him with concern.  “He may be right,” Sam said finally.  Dean fixed his brother with a look. “I know you think you’re fine, Dean,” Sam said.  “But you aren’t. Nothing about this situation is fine. Maybe Cas is on to something.  You don’t even have to talk to Bartholomew,” Sam spit out the name with contempt. Despite the fact that he’d never met Dean’s ex, Sam held  _ almost  _ as much of a grudge as Dean. “Maybe just seeing him will help.  I mean,” he looked at Dean carefully. “Nothing else has really worked.”

 

Dean mulled over his brother’s words for a moment and lifted the beer bottle to his lips.  After swallowing most of the contents he said, “I know. That’s why I’m going to go. I’m doing this for Cas.  He, um,” Dean scratched the back of his neck. “He wants to take our relationship to the next level.”

 

Sam’s eyes bugged out.  “Like…proposing?”

 

Dean shrugged.  “I don’t know, I guess.  I mean, we already live together, so I guess marriage is the next step or something.”

 

“Wow,” Sam breathed.  After a moment he said, “So are you going to ask him?  Or will he ask you?”

 

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean coughed.  “I don’t know. Let’s just try to get through the New Year and take it from there.”

 

“Okay,” Sam said casually, but he shot his brother a huge smile.  “This is awesome.”

 

“I know,” Dean said gruffly.

 

“I’m really happy for you two,” Sam pressed.

 

“Nothing has happened yet,” Dean pointed out.

 

“But it will,” Sam laughed.  “Awesome.” He clapped Dean on the back and they clinked their beers together in a little toast.

 

Cas called from the kitchen that dinner was ready so the brothers hefted themselves off the couch and wandered over to the table.  Cas had made a huge dish of lasagna complete with salads—mostly for Sam—and homemade garlic bread. The three of them dug in, filling their plates.  Conversation flowed easily and there was a lot of laughter.

 

Afterwards, Sam helped them clean the dishes before each of them cut huge slices of the pie.  Dean’s was by far the largest. Sam was impressed that Castiel had actually gotten Dean to purchase a new suit for the event.  Thankfully, Cas kept the incident in the dressing room between him and Dean, saving Sam from any second-hand embarrassment.

 

Once the pie was cleared away, they played a few rounds of three-handed poker before Sam stood up, saying he had to head out.  Dean made his brother promise to call when he was home safely and the two of them showed Sam out. As the door shut, Cas flicked the deadbolt and turned to Dean as it clicked into place.  “I believe I owe you a reward for being such a good boy this afternoon, don’t I?”

 

Dean could feel shivers run down his spine at the tone of Cas’ voice.  “Yeah,” he gulped. “I think you do.”

 

Quirking an eyebrow, Cas took Dean’s hand and pulled him down the hall toward their bedroom.  “Follow me,” he said in a commanding voice.

 

“Yes sir,” Dean gasped out.

 

They were waylaid for a moment in the hallway when Cas pushed Dean against the wall, kissing his mouth hungrily.  Cas’ hands slid up underneath Dean’s shirt, stroking his muscled chest. Dean gave a small yelp when Cas lightly pinched one of his nipples.  Cas kissed him deeply before pulling him into their bedroom. They tried to touch as much as possible as they helped each other pull off clothing, tossing the shirts onto the floor.

 

Pressing their chests to one another, they reached simultaneously for each other’s zippers.  Dean was impatient and he pushed Cas’ pants down around his hips. He smiled as Cas struggled to remove Dean’s jeans as well.  When they were finally naked, Cas pulled Dean to him and kissed him fully. Dean’s half-hard cock brushed against Cas’ thigh, and he groaned into his boyfriend’s mouth.

 

Cas placed his palm firmly on the center of Dean’s chest and gave a small push.  Dean felt the bed against the backs of his calves and allowed his body to fall backwards.  Cas moved over him, straddling Dean’s thighs, his cock bobbing temptingly between them. “Oh, Dean,” Cas groaned as he kissed him.

 

They moved together on the mattress, Cas pinning Dean down with his weight as they kissed heatedly for a few minutes.  Cas ran his fingers down Dean’s sides, before finally settling on his narrow hips. After a while, Cas pulled himself up and got off of the bed, standing before Dean completely nude.  Dean’s breath caught at the sight of his lover in front of him, hard and ready. “Dean,” Cas said, looking hard at him. “Be a good boy and get your favorite toy out for me.”

 

“Yes sir,” Dean nodded eagerly, jumping off of the mattress.  He pulled a medium-sized wooden chest out from under the bed, and set it carefully on the end.  Opening it, he began to look through the many devices that he had collected over the years, acutely aware that Castiel was watching his every movement.  Dean finally grasped a slender purple vibrator, which was shaped to be as realistic as possible. He held it up for Cas’ approval.  

 

When his boyfriend nodded, Dean put the other toys away and handed the vibrator to Cas in silence.  “What else do we need, my love?” Cas asked him.

 

Eyes opening wide, Dean spun and pulled a large bottle of lubrication out of the bedside table.  He kept his eyes downcast as he handed it over to Castiel. “Good boy,” Cas praised. Dean kept his gaze on the floor, but he could sense the movements as Cas came closer.  “What’s your color right now?” Cas asked him seriously. 

 

They always did this when they played this way.  Green was all good. Yellow was a request to slow down, and red meant that they must stop immediately.  So far, Dean had never used the word “red” with Castiel. “Green,” Dean said quietly.

 

“Excellent,” Cas said smoothly as he sat on the edge of their bed.  There was pure silence for a minute before Cas said his name in that deep voice that Dean loved so much.  “I believe I promised to spank you until your ass was red and you were begging for me.”

 

“You also said you’d stuff me full of that toy,” Dean blurted out before he could stop himself.  “Sir,” he tacked on at the last minute.

 

“So I did,” Cas agreed. 

 

Dean looked up and met Cas’ eyes.  His boyfriend was smiling at him but he looked more like a predator than usual.  Cas gently patted his lap invitingly. “Please get into position, Dean,” he requested.

 

Tripping over himself in his haste, Dean lay over Cas’ thighs on his stomach, his firm ass pointed up in the air.  He shifted his hips as he got comfortable, his swollen dick brushing against Cas as he moved. A light touch ran along his butt cheek and Dean sighed.  “Would you like to count how many spankings you receive, Dean?”

 

“Yes sir,” Dean nodded enthusiastically.  He was smiling so hard in anticipation, that he didn’t notice when Cas’ warm hand lifted.  He  _ did  _ notice when it came flying back down and cracked across his ass right on the seam.  Dean made a noise in the back of his throat at the sting and jolted forward just a little.  “One!” He called out loudly.

 

“Two,” another hit came.  In between the swift spanks, he could feel Cas’ large palms rubbing his skin soothingly.  “Three!”

 

“Your ass is so red Dean,” Cas murmured.  “Beautiful. You’re almost ready for your toy now, aren’t you?”  Dean nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. His cock was dripping, and it felt intensely heavy.  Cas spanked him once more and Dean counted out the number. “You’re so pretty this way,” Cas told him.  Inside, Dean preened a little bit. Dean could hear the cap of the lube click and made a noise as Cas took his hands away.

 

He shifted his hips and rutted against his boyfriend with impatience.  Seconds later, he was rewarded with a firm finger pressing at his hole.  A moan escaped his mouth as Cas breached him slowly. It burned a little, but Dean knew that soon enough it was going to feel amazing.  Cas worked his finger in deeper, and curled it slightly, brushing Dean’s prostate with the movement. 

 

Dean’s eyes flew wide and he keened at the feeling.  “You like that don’t you?” Cas said quietly. Dean felt a chill as Cas added more lube to the area and began to press against him with another finger.  Pushing his hips back, he pulled Cas into him deeper, almost sobbing at the two fingers massaging him so intimately. Dean made soft, broken, cries as Cas worked him open.  He was so turned on that he forgot to pay attention to what else his boyfriend might be doing. Cas’ free hand came down hard with a sharp crack onto his bare ass and Dean gasped loudly

“Shit!” he cried.

 

“Dean,” Cas said sternly.

 

“Sorry, sir,” Dean closed his eyes and counted a five.  Cas smacked him again and Dean shouted “Six!”

 

“Good boy,” Cas praised as he pressed his fingers into Dean’s now pliant asshole.  “You are so greedy for me,” Cas said. “Your ass loves to be filled, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes sir,” Dean choked.  When he first realized his sexuality, he had always insisted on topping, but once Castiel came along, Dean had finally agreed to bottom for the first time.  It had been the most amazing and erotic experience of his life. Dean begged to bottom now, and he very rarely topped Cas at this point in their relationship.  Dean’s hole clenched around his boyfriend’s hand as he thought about how happy he was that the only man who had ever fucked him was Castiel Novak.

 

“You beg for my cock,” Cas slapped his ass hard once more as he curled his fingers on Dean’s most sensitive place.  “You love it when I fuck your tight ass, Dean. You can’t get enough.”

 

“I love it,” Dean moaned.  “More Cas, please!”

 

Dean received another spanking for using Castiel’s name, but he didn’t care.  He was so fucking horny that he was worried that he might come just from this.  He felt another press of a finger at his ass and sighed as Cas pushed in, now filling him with three digits.  Castiel’s fingers moved perfectly, drawing loud groans from Dean’s perfect lips. Dean ground his hips backwards, trying to find release just on his boyfriend’s hand.  He could feel his cock leaking and knew he was close.

 

Taking a deep breath, Dean was almost ready to come when Cas removed his fingers and gave him another sharp spank.  Dean forgot to count. He was moaning at the loss, wishing that Cas would fill him back up. He turned his head slightly and could see Cas holding the slim, purple vibrator in his hand.  Gritting his teeth with anticipation, Dean wiggled a little in Castiel’s lap, trying to be as tempting as possible. He received another slap for his efforts.

 

Dean cried out with a filthy moan as Cas pressed the tip of the vibrator to his hole.  He started to chant, “Yes, yes, yes,” as Cas slowly pushed it into him. The vibrator went in deep and Dean clenched around it.  Cas deliberately pulled it almost all the way out and Dean whined with need. Cas chuckled at Dean’s antics and pushed the toy back in once more.  As he slid it into Dean’s tight heat, he flicked the button on the end and the vibrator came to life. Dean almost wept.

Castiel fucked him slowly with the toy as Dean writhed in his lap.  Just as Dean was getting used to all of the sensations, Cas lifted his palm and spanked Dean’s ass with incredible force.  “You look so fucking beautiful right now Dean,” Cas’ voice was husky. “Your fucking red ass is so pretty. And your hole is opening up so good for me.  Do you like this?”

 

Dean could only nod.  He was gasping with exertion and pleasure, but no sounds were actually coming out.  Cas spanked his ass once more and Dean gasped because the hit came at the same time the vibrator tickled his prostate.  “You’re so fucking hot,” Cas told him. “I wonder,” Cas broke off.

 

Craning his neck, Dean tried to look over his shoulder at his boyfriend.  “What, Angel?” Dean asked.

 

“Would you be opposed to me taking a picture of you like this?” Cas asked hesitantly.  It wasn’t something they had ever done before, but just thinking about it made Dean’s cock bounce.

 

“No,” Dean croaked.  “No, Cas. That would be okay.”

 

He felt Castiel shift, reaching behind him on the bed where they had tossed their phones earlier.  He wriggled a little as Cas pulled up his camera. He could hear a few clicks as Cas took pictures of several angles, repositioning the vibrator as he went.  Dean felt as though he should be embarrassed, but he wasn’t. He was fucking turned on. “Dean,” Cas said softly. “You look amazing all plugged up and red for me.  So sexy.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Dean managed.  He let out a whoosh of air as Cas gently removed the toy from his butt and began to softly rub his reddened ass cheeks.  It stung, but it felt so good.

 

“Those pictures are just for me,” Cas promised him.  “No one else gets to see you like this.”

 

“Just you, Cas,” Dean said.

 

Castiel patted him lightly on the ass and asked him to get up.  Dean stood on wobbly legs and turned to face his boyfriend, eager at what would happen next.  “Color?” Castiel looked up at him with concern.

 

“So fucking green, Cas,” Dean said confidently.

 

Cas smiled softly at him and tilted his head, his blue eyes raking over Dean’s naked form.  “Hands and knees,” he requested. “I’m going to fuck your tight little ass raw,” Cas promised.

 

Dean clamored onto the bed, positioning himself with his backside toward his boyfriend.  The mattress sunk as he felt Cas climb on behind him. Large hands caressed his sides and he felt Cas’ lips press a kiss to his lower back.  He could feel Cas’ hard dick pushing in between his cheeks and he whimpered, wanting to be fucked so badly. Castiel lined himself up and pushed at Dean’s hole.  Dean could feel the muscle giving way as Cas entered him. One slow, smooth glide and Cas was pressed into him as far as he could. The burn was fantastic. Dean’s mouth opened wide as Cas bottomed out and stilled.  He never got over the feeling of being so full with his boyfriend’s thick cock. He felt like he was made for Cas.

 

“Move please,” Dean begged.

 

Cas pulled out slowly, relishing in the feeling.  Dean knew that Cas would be watching. He knew how much his boyfriend loved to see his cock sliding into him.  Pressing back in once more with a hard thrust, Cas filled Dean up causing him to gasp. “You’re so fucking dirty,” Cas said in a loving tone as he picked up the pace.  “You let me spank your ass red, and now you’re letting me fuck you so hard. You want more too, don’t you Dean?”

 

“Oh yeah!” Dean shouted, pushing his hips backwards, forcing Cas in as deep as he could.  His boyfriend kept up a bruising pace and Dean knew he was going to be sore tomorrow. He didn’t care.  He craved this. Cas felt so good inside of him, filling him until he thought he would split. Every time that Castiel pressed into him with force, he brushed against Dean’s red ass and it smarted.  Dean fucking loved it.

 

He was gripping the comforter as hard as he could while Cas fucked him raw.  The pace was intense and Dean could see black spots bursting behind his eyes.  He was going to come soon and it was going to be amazing. He couldn’t even reach for his own cock, he was too busy gripping the blankets in ecstasy.  Cas was relentless, fucking him so hard and deep. “Cas,” Dean managed. “I’m gonna—“ he gasped. 

 

“Just on my cock?” Cas asked breathlessly.

 

“Fuck yeah, Angel,” Dean shouted.  “Oh, that feels so fucking good Cas!”

 

“Come for me, Dean,” Cas demanded roughly.  “Show me how good you feel.”

 

Dean grunted a few more times as Cas pounded his ass.  He tightened his muscles and felt the familiar build. After a few powerful thrusts, he came untouched, spilling out onto the bed with a loud cry.  Cas’ hips jerked and he fucked Dean hard a few more times. Dean’s dick was going soft, but he was still riding out his orgasm. Cas kept pumping away and Dean could feel the friction.  Two more deep, hard thrusts and Cas spilled into him. Dean felt the rush of warm fluid and sank onto his forearms, pushing his ass up slightly as Cas filled him. After a moment, Cas released his tight grip on Dean’s hips and slowly inched out of his abused hole.  His boyfriend gently held his ass cheeks apart and watched as fresh cum dripped out of Dean’s ass. “You’re so fucking perfect,” Cas told him.

 

Dean let Cas gaze at his hole for a while before he finally flopped down, landing in the wet spot without caring.  He sighed gratefully as Cas began to lightly massage his shoulders. “That was amazing,” Dean finally managed.

 

“Yes it was,” Cas agreed.  There was a moment of silence before Cas asked him, “How are you feeling?”

 

“Well-fucked,” Dean replied, rolling onto his side so he could look at Cas’ face.

 

“Seriously Dean,” Cas furrowed his brow.  “Was I too rough?”

 

“Hell no,” Dean said sincerely.  “That was fucking perfect, Angel.”

 

Cas smiled shyly at him and cupped Dean’s face in his palm.  He leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to Dean’s lips. “Let me help you clean up,” he said as he gently moved Dean into a sitting position.

 

Dean winced as a sharp pain sliced through his ass at the movement.  He noticed Castiel watching him with concern and he waved it off. “I’m fine,” he insisted.  He let Cas help him up and into the bathroom. He even stood quietly, leaning against the wall while Cas got the shower going.  Once his boyfriend deemed the water temperature to be perfect, Dean allowed Cas to guide him into the shower.

 

They stood under the dual sprays of warm water, Cas gently soaping up Dean’s back, stomach and legs.  He paid special attention to Dean’s ass, lightly cleaning it as Dean leaned into him. When they finished, Cas dried Dean’s body off with a fluffy white towel and led him back into the bedroom.  He threw their messy comforter onto the floor, helping Dean under the sheets. “You’re so good for me,” Cas whispered, kissing Dean’s forehead as he tucked his boyfriend into their bed.

 

Dean snuggled into the pillows while Castiel went to the kitchen for large water bottles.  When he returned, he set one on the table next to Dean before sliding into the other side of the bed.  Cas threw his well-defined arm around Dean’s waist and pulled his boyfriend close. Dean burrowed up next to him, pressing his bare ass to Cas’ spent cock.  Cas leaned in and nuzzled the back of Dean’s neck, placing soft kisses along his hairline until Dean finally drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said in the notes at the beginning, the first half of this story is a lot of shameless smut. The second half is more violence and tense thriller crap.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villains R US has a meeting and Sabriel finally shows itself!

_ Two Days Ago, December 29th—10:16am… _

 

Bartholomew Boyle crossed his legs and adjusted his arms on the high-backed chair in Richard Roman’s office.  He made sure that he cocked his wrist in such a manner that Dick would surely notice the brand new limited edition Rolex watch he was currently wearing.  He smiled thinly at Roman, but didn’t say anything. He could see Dick looking over his shoulder, eyeing up the two men who flanked Bartholomew’s chair.

 

After a long moment, Bartholomew waved his hand carelessly and said, “These are my associates, Gordon and Virgil.  They will be assisting us on New Year’s Eve.”

 

Dick’s eyes moved over the two men and then came back to rest on Bartholomew’s face.  “And what about the vault? We need someone who can bypass the security in the museum’s basement.  Which one of these  _ fine _ gentlemen will be doing that?”

 

Bartholomew’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly at his ‘business partner.’  “Actually, that part will be handled by another party.”

 

“I won’t work with people I’ve never met,” Dick snapped at him.  “You know that. It was part of our deal.”

 

“I am aware,” Bartholomew said indifferently.  “She’ll be along any moment now. I believe her plane only just landed an hour ago.”

 

Dick looked at him for a moment before speaking.  “She?”

 

“Yes,” Bartholomew said.  “I assume you don’t have any objections to females?”

 

“No,” Dick said, sitting back into his own chair.  “I rather enjoy women.”

 

“I’m sure,” Bartholomew said thinly.

 

The intercom on Roman’s desk crackled to life and a voice came through announcing a new visitor.  “Send her in,” Dick barked.

 

Seconds later, the door to the large office opened, revealing a stunning woman in her mid-twenties.  She was wearing incredibly tight black pants and a low-cut black designer tank top which accentuated her impressive musculature.  She smiled at the men in the room, but it wasn’t a friendly gesture. Holding out her hand to Roman she grasped his and shook once.  “Bela Talbot,” she said, her voice inflected with the lilt of a British accent. “I’ve heard so many things about you. May I call you Dick?”

 

Bela sank into an empty chair without and invitation and fixed Roman with her hard gaze.  “You may,” he conceded. 

 

She flashed some teeth at him and turned to Bartholomew.  “I’ve already familiarized myself with the security system that you provided me with,” she began.  “I think I can crack the codes and get us out of the museum in less than an hour.”

 

“You said it would only be thirty minutes,” Bartholomew said with annoyance.

 

“And it would have been,” Bela spoke to him as though he were a child.  “But you gave me the impression that the model was the Fifteen Hundred, and in reality, it’s the Twenty-Five.   _ That  _ particular beast takes a little more finesse.  Don’t worry,” she said to both men. “I have a magic touch—I can definitely get us in.  It’s just going to take a little longer than I originally thought.”

 

Dick turned to Bartholomew.  “You’re sure the piece is there?  I’ve spent a lot of money chasing after this so-called ‘Word of God.’”

 

“Yes,” Bartholomew said.  “I have verified reports from my man on the inside that the tablet will be in the vault until January Fourth.  Which means that the best time to extract it will be during the New Year’s Eve Gala that I am hosting at the museum.  After the fourth, we have no idea where the tablet will end up. Time is of the essence.”

 

“Good,” Dick said.  “My buyer is very excited about this project.  I would hate to let them down.”

 

“We won’t,” Bartholomew promised.  “Ms. Talbot is the best in the business.”

 

“And I don’t come cheap,” she winked at Roman.

 

“As we discussed,” Bartholomew said.  “You will be in attendance. I want you armed, but don’t make a move unless something goes wrong.  We can’t afford to have both of our names tarnished now, can we?”

 

“I don’t plan on getting involved at all,” Dick laughed.  “Never too early for a celebratory drink, is it?” He picked up a crystal tumbler from the table next to him and poured himself two fingers.  

 

The glass filled with a dark amber liquid and he raised it to his lips.  “You better make sure this goes off without a hitch Boyle,” Dick said as he drank deeply from the glass.  “Gentlemen,” Roman said happily. “And Lady,” he nodded to Bela. “To a wonderful partnership.”

 

They all threw their heads back and laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean lounged on the couch, his phone pressed to his ear.  He could smell the pancakes cooking in the kitchen and his stomach rumbled.  Castiel had insisted on making breakfast this morning, allowing Dean to recover a little more from their rough bout last night.  Dean grimaced as more static filled the other end of the phone. He could hardly hear Sam’s voice.

 

“Say again,” he barked.

 

“I said,” Sam sounded upset.  “That we aren’t sure what exactly is going to go down at this event, but it’s looking more and more like something will be happening.  Charlie said that a woman with the name Mina Chandler flew stateside yesterday. Her ticket was paid for through one of Bartholomew’s shell companies, and that name is a known alias of a pretty prolific lock breaker.”

 

“Never heard of her,” Dean grunted.

 

“Have you heard of Bela Talbot?” Sam said with a short laugh.

 

Dean sat straight up and winced at the pain he felt in his ass and lower back.  “Shit, Sammy,” he said seriously. “She’s big time.”

 

“No shit,” Sam said.  “As far as we know, she hasn’t worked a job in the States in almost eight years.  So if she’s coming in for the main event, it’s going to be big.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean breathed out on a low whistle.  “Bela Fucking Talbot,” he said. “Interpol’s been after her since she pulled that job at the Louvre when she was just a kid.”

 

“Fifteen, yeah,” Sam agreed.  “Not many underage people make an international Most Wanted list.  Keep in mind Dean,” Sam warned. “This is all just speculation right now.  We don’t know if it’s really her, and we can’t connect her directly to Boyle at this time.  This is just what Charlie’s been able to dig up through whatever means she uses.”

 

“Okay,” Dean said, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa.  “Keep me updated, but don’t get in trouble with Bobby, you hear?”

 

“Loud and clear, Dean,” Sam said, signing off.

 

Dean tossed his cell onto the coffee table and pinched the bridge of his nose.  This could be huge. Part of him was pissed that he wasn’t involved. The other half of him was just grateful that after ten years, Bartholomew Fucking Boyle might finally be behind bars in a few days.  It was almost too good to be true.

 

“Breakfast,” Castiel called from the kitchen.  Dean gingerly stood up and sort of limped into the kitchen.  He sank into a chair at the table very carefully. He glanced up while piling pancakes onto his plate to find Cas watching him intently.  “I was too rough with you,” Cas said, his voice tinged with sadness.

 

“No you weren’t,” Dean insisted.  “You were just right.” He poured almost half of the syrup bottle onto his plate and looked at his boyfriend pointedly.  “Stop it with the guilty looks,” he said, poking his fork in the direction of the chair where Cas usually sat. “Have breakfast with me.  Please.”

 

Cas sighed and joined him.  They ate mostly in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable though.  When they were finished, and the kitchen was clean, Dean took Cas’ hand in his own and led him down the hall to their bedroom.  They lay together, facing each other and sharing sweet kisses until they both drifted off into a mid-day nap.

    


* * *

 

 

Sam Winchester was staring at his computer screen without actually seeing it when a new message pinged and shot up into his vision.  He leaned in and narrowed his eyes as he read.

 

**From: Bradbury_C @ FBI . gov**

**Mina Chandler has registered at a hotel downtown about two blocks from the museum.  Single occupancy room. Three orders of room service so far. Checked in about seven hours ago. No visitors registered through the front desk as of now.  Two sent emails from that IP address currently. One to a RRDick @ RRE . com, traced to one, Richard Roman, Esq of Richard Roman enterprises. The other sent to ZManAd @ historicalmuseumsociety . gov, registered to one Zachariah Adler.  He works at the museum as the head curator. Passed all of this on to Boss Man Singer, but thought you would want to follow up since you know the assistant curator so well ;)**

 

Sam rolled his eyes at the presumption of Charlie’s last sentence and typed out a response of his own.

 

**To: Bradbury_C @ FBI . gov**

**I know him because his brother is dating my brother.  That’s all, Charlie. Thanks for the info, I’ll have your mu-shu pork delivered by seven pm tonight as your reward.**

 

He had just leaned back into his chair to see if he could work up the nerve to call Cas’ brother, Gabriel, when his laptop pinged once more.

 

**From: Bradbury_C @ FBI . gov**

**Suuuuuuure.  That’s the only way you know him ;)  Throw in some crab cheese wontons and those little sugary donuts and I won’t bring him up again…**

 

Sam grunted and typed out that he would include her bribes with the usual standing order he sent up to the IT group every Tuesday evening and reiterated that he didn’t really know Gabriel Novak all that well.  It was a lie, and Sam knew it. And Charlie knew it too. And Sam knew that Charlie knew…ugh. He closed his eyes and wished for the thousandth time that he had never mentioned running into Gabriel at the gourmet candy shoppe downtown three months ago.

 

Recognizing Cas’ older brother, Sam had struck up a conversation with the short blonde man over a colorful display of lollipops.  They had coffee, and then dinner, and they ended the night at Gabe’s apartment, tangled up in the soft, silk sheets of the shorter man’s bed.  Sam had snuck out the next morning without a word, feeling a little weird about sleeping with the brother of  _ his  _ brother’s boyfriend.  He lasted two days before he finally broke down and confessed all to Charlie.

 

She had teased him and given him a high five, which made Sam even more embarrassed.  But she’d never mentioned anything to Dean, and Sam was eternally grateful for that. He didn’t know if he could face it if his brother ever found out about his indiscretion.  He knew Dean wouldn’t give a rat’s ass that he swung both ways, obviously. But he also knew that Dean and Gabriel had a sort of ‘oil and water’ relationship. It usually made for a pretty amusing get-to-gether.  

 

Sam called the local Chinese delivery that was situated a few blocks from their building and placed the order for Charlie’s dinner.  He was assured it would arrive promptly at seven in the evening.

 

Standing up and stretching, Sam heard his spine pop and grunted.  He’d been sitting at his desk for way too long today. Deciding to head down the hall and see what Bobby suggested for their next move, Sam shut his office door behind him and walked toward Director Singer’s office.  He knocked twice and was told to come in. Bobby was seated behind his desk chastising someone on the phone.

 

“Damn it, Garth,” Bobby snarled into the phone.  “How many times do I have to say that you need to clear things with the locals before you just go busting down doors?  Fix it, ya idgit!” Bobby slammed the phone down and looked up at Sam who was standing sheepishly in the doorway. “I tell ya,” Bobby motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk.  “I’m shocked that Garth hasn’t blown his own thumb off cleaning his gun by now.”

 

“He was a good researcher,” Sam said.  “Maybe he just needs a little more time to find his way in the field?”

 

“He’s gonna find himself back to his little cubicle—and soon—if he doesn’t start following proper protocol,” Bobby grumbled.  “I guess you got Bradbury’s messages about Mina Chandler?” The director never wasted any time.

 

“Yes,” Sam nodded.  “Three room service orders in seven hours makes me think she’s trying not to be seen.  Or that she’s holed up for a reason and doesn’t have time to pop down the block for dinner.”

 

“I agree,” Bobby said.

 

“I know you want Dean on the side-lines,” Sam said, hedging.  “But I really think he deserves to know what’s up.”

 

Bobby huffed and looked straight at Sam.  “I hear ya,” the older man said. “I don’t like this any more than you do.  But Dean’s involvement could fuck this case five ways from Sunday. You know that.”

 

Sam looked at the man who was more his father than his biological dad ever was and grit his teeth.  “It’s not right. This affects Dean more than anyone and he has the right to be included in this. If we get Bartholomew, it could change Dean’s life.”

 

“I know,” Bobby sighed.  “I keep hopin’ that one day Dean will wake up and be all better.  He  _ has  _ been different since Castiel came into his life.  But that darkness, that mistrust, it’s still there.  It’s just festering.”

 

Shifting uncomfortably, Sam glanced down at his shoes.  He needed to buy new ones, these were all scuffed. He knew that Bobby had hit the nail on the head about Dean but he didn’t want to admit it.  Dean was his big brother. He’d always looked out for Sam. When everything blew up with Bartholomew way back then, Sam did his best to step up and take care of Dean for once.  But his brother’s eyes had went blank and he’d retreated into himself. Dean had shut down for so long that Sam was honestly terrified. After Cas, he had started to believe that Dean was coming back, but he knew, Bobby was right, there was always a wall around Dean’s heart.

 

Changing the subject, Bobby cleared his throat and said the words that Sam really didn’t want to hear.  “I want you to talk to this Gabriel Novak character.”

 

Internally, Sam winced.  This day sucked. “I can get Victor to do it,” he offered.

 

Bobby shook his head.  “No,” he was firm. “With Dean on vacation and ‘not involved’ with this operation, you’re my most senior agent.   _ You  _ do it.”

 

Knowing the battle was lost, Sam nodded and stood.  “I’ll call him now.”

 

“You do that,” Bobby waved at the door, dismissing him.  “Oh, and Sam,” Bobby called as Sam almost reached the hallway.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Try and keep it in your pants around him, okay?”  Bobby winked and picked up his phone as though he hadn’t said anything odd at all.

 

Sam turned on his heel and walked back to his office on autopilot.  Shit. Bobby knew. Who told him? If Bobby knew, did that mean Cas and Dean knew as well?  Sam could feel the beginnings of a migraine as he picked up his office phone and dialed the museum’s administrative number.  A chipper sounding young woman took his call and placed him on hold. He listened to elevator music for over a minute before the call finally connected.

 

“Sammy!  It’s been so long, kiddo!” Gabriel’s voice sang through the line and Sam was unsure if the other man was pissed about the lack of communication or just teasing him.  “Whatever can I do for you, handsome?”

 

Sam grit his teeth.  “I need to talk to you.  Privately.”

 

“Did I get you pregnant, Sam?” Gabe laughed at him.

 

Rolling his eyes and grunting at the poor joke, Sam ground out, “This is serious Gabriel.  Life and death. Possibly for Cas and Dean.”

 

There was silence on the other end of the phone.  “Okay,” Gabe sounded almost harsh. He definitely wasn’t flirting, or joking, now.  “Name the time and place.”

 

“I can meet you at your place tonight?  Two hours from now. Is that doable?” Sam hoped fervently that it was.  He didn’t want to do this at the museum.

 

“Sure,” Gabe said.  “Should I chill some champagne for when we’re done talking?”  The teasing tone came back.

 

“I’m hanging up now,” Sam said.

 

“See you tonight, Sugar,” Gabe laughed as Sam slammed the phone back down with much more force than necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Plot Thickens...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plotting, sex, dirty talk, more sex and fluffy fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super NSFW Sabriel complete with dirty talk.  
> NSFW Destiel with added fluff.

_ December 29 _ _ th _ _ —5:26pm… _

 

Shifting on his feet in the lobby of Gabriel’s luxury apartment building, Sam felt incredibly out of place.  The doorman had let him inside when he flashed the badge, but the woman behind the welcoming desk was eyeing him rather harshly.  Impatiently, Sam pulled out his phone and checked the time again. Gabriel was twenty minutes late. Sam thought that was incredibly rude.  The revolving door began to move and Sam looked up as Gabriel stepped out of it, smiling brightly at him.

 

“Good to see you,” Gabe said.  His smile looked a little forced and Sam ducked his head guiltily.  He hadn’t really made a great impression the last time he’d been in this building.

 

“You too,” he said, for lack of anything else.

 

“Come upstairs,” Gabriel walked to the elevator and pressed the call button.

 

They stood side by side, waiting, and not speaking to each other.  It was uncomfortable, and Sam reached up to scratch the back of his neck.  The elevator doors swung open and Gabriel stepped inside briskly. They rode up to Gabe’s floor, looking at anything but each other.  Padding down the lavishly decorated hallway, Sam watched while Gabriel unlocked his door and ushered him inside.

 

The last time Sam had been here, he had been pretty focused on just finding Gabe’s bedroom, so he hadn’t really taken in his surroundings.  And in the morning, he was just dashing to escape. There were tasteful pieces of art, both framed on the walls, and scattered around on shelves in the form of sculpture.  He followed Gabe into the kitchen wordlessly, glancing all around him, impressed with Gabriel’s obvious taste.

 

“Water?” Gabe said, staring at him.

 

“What?” Sam blinked.

 

“Coffee?  Juice? Tequila?  What can I get you?” Gabriel gestured to the fridge.

 

“Oh,” Sam said, surprised.  “Um, water, I guess.”

 

A simple nod, and Gabriel was pulling a tall glass out of the cupboards and filling it with a filtered pitcher from the refrigerator.  He handed the cool glass to Sam and fixed the taller man with a pretty intense glare. “As much as I could wish that you’re here because you’re lonely and want a booty call,” Gabriel said.  “You mentioned my brother and the words ‘life and death’ this afternoon. That’s not something I take lightly. What the fuck is going on?”

 

Sam took a sip of the water and set the mostly full glass onto the marble countertop next to him.  “This is a federal investigation, so a lot of the details, I can’t tell you.” Gabriel nodded sharply.  “What do you know about Dean and his ex?”

 

“Barty?” Gabe gave a short, cruel sounding laugh.  “Not much. Cas doesn’t really gossip, you know.” He waited, but Sam didn’t continue.  “Fine,” Gabe huffed. “I see him in the society pages all the time. Donating money to whatever cause is popular that week.  I know he and Dean didn’t part on good terms  _ and _ that your brother is seriously fucked up from whatever happened between them.  I know he’s hosting the New Year’s Eve Gala at my museum in a day and a half. What else do I need to know?”

 

Sam pursed his lips.  “We’ve been investigating Bartholomew since his breakup with Dean.  It was partly a work thing. That’s all I can really say.”

 

“Okay,” Gabriel prompted.

 

“There have been a number of suspicious emails from Bartholomew with some known…people…”

 

“Criminals,” Gabriel said.  “You can say the word. Criminals.”

 

“Okay,” Sam sighed.  “Yeah, criminals. He’s also been corresponding with the Head Curator at the museum, a one, Zachariah Adler.”

 

“Big bag of dicks,” Gabe said on a snort.  “Also, my boss.”

 

“We think he might be involved.”

 

Gabriel blinked.  “And you, what? Want me to spy on him or something?”

 

“Not exactly,” Sam hedged.

 

“Spit it out Sasquatch,” Gabriel waved his hands in frustration.

 

“We need a presence at the Gala on New Year’s Eve,” Sam said.  “A small contingent of agents, just in case anything untoward goes down.”

 

“You think this Bartholomew Boyle douchebag is going to rob my museum?” Gabriel looked incredibly pissed off and Sam had to blink, because angry Gabe was actually pretty sexy.

 

“We don’t know,” Sam said honestly.  “But you’re in charge of the guest list.  I just need you to put some more names on it so that my team and I will be set up, just in case.”

 

Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest and clicked his tongue, shaking his head.  “I could lose my job if Adler gets wind of this.”

 

“The Bureau will stand behind you.  Full support.”

 

Cocking his head, Gabe smiled cockily for the first time that evening.  “You’ll be behind me, Sam? Is that a promise?”

 

Sam blushed full red and made a sort of squeaking sound.  “You know what I mean, Gabe.” 

 

“You walked right into that one, kiddo,” Gabriel teased.  He stopped smiling and went to a cupboard near the stove. Pulling out what looked like an incredibly large bottle of tequila, Gabriel poured himself a hefty amount.  He winked at Sam and tipped his head back, chugging the liquor down in one gulp. “Fine,” he said as he set the empty glass onto the counter. “Give me the names and I’ll get them on the list.”

 

“Really?” Sam’s eyes were bright.  “Thanks Gabriel, really. This is huge.”

 

“You owe me,” Gabriel winked.  “I’ll do anything to make sure Cas is safe and all that, but you’ll still owe me, you giant, sexy creature.”

 

Sam dipped his head.  “What kind of payment did you have in mind?” Now that the business was taken care of, he allowed his voice to show the innuendo.

 

Gabriel smirked at him and stepped forward.  Without words, they were in each other’s arms in moments.  Gabe wrapped his limbs around Sam and did a little hop, jumping into Sam’s arms, curling his legs around the taller man’s waist.  Their mouths were hot and open, kissing as hard as they could. Sam bumped into the counter painfully and grunted, tightening his grip on Gabe’s body.

 

They moved clumsily down the hall, bumping into things, their lips never parting.  Sam stepped into Gabriel’s spacious bedroom and kicked the door closed behind them.  Sam practically threw Gabe down onto the bed, wasting no time to crawl over the shorter man’s body, pinning him to the bed.

 

Gabriel’s legs wrapped around him once more and Sam wondered if this time, he’d be allowed to take charge of their encounter.  The thought had hardly crossed his mind before Gabriel had pushed him, using his thighs and flipped their positions on the bed.  The shorter man was grinning down at him ferally and Sam’s breath caught. “Now, now, kiddo,” Gabe smiled. “You know how much I enjoy having you under me.”

 

“I want to be on top,” Sam whined slightly, to his embarrassment, even as he pulled Gabe down for a searing kiss.

 

“You want to be in charge?” Gabriel sounded almost amused as he nibbled along Sam’s jawline.  “That’s adorable.”

 

“Gabe,” Sam moaned, pleading.  He tilted his head, exposing more of his neck.  Gabriel’s lips latched onto the sensitive skin and sucked hard.  Sam knew there would be definite proof of his activities in the morning.  “Please, I want—“

 

Gabriel lifted his head and smirked at Sam, who felt like he’d already been wrecked, just from kissing.  “Okay, kiddo,” Gabe said. “You can be on top.” Sam smiled. “On top of me, riding my dick. I’m thinking…reverse cowgirl would look especially pretty on you.”

 

Sam’s mind went blank, picturing it in his mind.  It hadn’t been what he’d meant, but holy hell was it hot!  He swallowed thickly and found himself nodding his head enthusiastically.  “You want to ride my fat cock?” Gabriel asked with a grin. “Fuck yourself on me like a dirty whore?  Is that what you want Sammy? My big fucking dick shoved in your ass while you scream for me? Do you want that, kiddo?”

 

He had forgotten about Gabe’s filthy mouth and how absolutely sexy it was.  Bucking his hips up into Gabriel, Sam moaned, “Yes!”

 

“Excellent,” Gabriel rolled off of him and began to peel off his clothing. 

 

It took Sam a moment to focus before he began to strip as well.  Once they were both naked, Gabe settled back on his bed, piled into the large pillows, his hands behind his head.  He was smirking at Sam, waiting.

 

Biting his lip, Sam moved across the mattress, straddling Gabe’s hips and leaning down for a hot, filthy kiss.  “Open yourself up for me,” Gabe instructed, tossing a tube of lubrication at Sam.

Sam’s knees were on either side of Gabe’s body.  He could feel the shorter man’s impressively thick cock brushing him teasingly.  He coated his fingers and reached behind himself, moving his fingers between his ass cheeks.  Sam pressed against his own hole, pushing forward, the muscle giving way easily. He worked his finger deeper into his ass, chancing a glance down at his partner.  Gabriel’s cheeks were flushed and he was blinking way too much as he took in the sight of Sam above him. “Fuck, kiddo,” Gabe breathed as Sam pushed another finger into himself.  “That looks like it’s way too easy. Did you get yourself ready for me earlier?”

 

Grunting a bit as he added a third finger to his hole, Sam nodded.  “I did—a little in the bathroom at work—before I met you,” Sam gasped.  “I—I kind of hoped that—“

 

He was cut off by Gabriel reaching up and pulling him down for another harsh kiss.  Gabe’s hand was around the back of Sam’s neck, holding him tight as the smaller man licked deeply into Sam’s mouth.  “You’re such a naughty boy, aren’t you? Fingering yourself at work. You’re so deliciously wicked,” Gabriel whispered, kissing him again.  “Lucky for you, I’m a sucker for bad boys.” Gabe pulled away, leaning back into his pillows again. “I think you’re ready for me.”

Sam agreed wholeheartedly.  He wanted that thick cock deep inside of him right now!  

 

He removed his fingers and moaned a little, now that his ass was empty once more.  Gabriel patted the side of Sam’s hip lightly. “Turn around and ride me,” he commanded.  Something about Gabe’s voice made Sam want to do anything he asked. He’d never been this pliant with another lover before.  He didn’t want to think about what that could mean. They hardly knew one another, and this was only the second time they’d hooked up.  But Sam found himself  _ wanting _ to do anything to make Gabe happy.

 

He spun around on the bed and settled back, straddling Gabe, but facing away.  His ass was hovering over Gabriel’s dick and he could feel the thick head pressing between his cheeks.  He lifted himself up slightly when he felt Gabriel’s hands rolling a condom onto himself. Sam blinked—he hadn’t even thought about protection.  He’d been ready to just fuck Gabe bareback, as though this was a regular thing with a man he trusted! That almost brought Sam out of his pleasure for a moment, until he felt Gabe’s dick sliding between his ass cheeks once more, the thin layer of latex between them.  Moaning, and back in the moment, Sam leaned backward just a touch as he felt Gabriel pull his butt cheeks apart with one hand. As he glanced over his shoulder, he could see that Gabe was lining himself up. “Go on, kiddo,” Gabe said roughly. “I want that sweet ass of yours, and I  _ know  _ that you want me.”

 

Fuck.  He really did.  Sam slowly lowered his body down as Gabe held them both steady.  The first breach of the large cockhead into his ass burned, and Sam groaned at the intrusion.  He kept pushing down, wanting more even though it was a stretch. He could feel himself splitting open and he gasped loudly.  Behind him, Gabriel’s breathing was raspy and he could only imagine the view that his partner had.

 

Sam felt as though he was completely full as he continued to sink down onto Gabe’s huge cock.  It was so thick—thicker than any man Sam had ever been with—but it felt perfect. He felt as though, for the first time, he was filled up just as he needed to be.  When Sam finally took the last few inches and his butt was resting on Gabe’s hips, both men sighed deeply. “Kiddo, you’re so fucking tight,” Gabe said, running his hand along Sam’s side gently.  “Fuck, you feel amazing!”

 

“I want to move,” Sam begged.  “I want to ride you so hard!”

 

“You can do whatever you want, Samshine,” Gabe told him breathlessly.  “Just make yourself feel good for me, okay?”

 

“Mmm,” Sam moaned, pulling his hips up just a little.  The feeling of the huge dick sliding out of him was intense.  He wanted more. He wanted deep and fast and rough. He wanted to fuck himself on Gabriel until they both came as hard as they could.  Sam groaned, “Gabriel—oh yes!” 

Sam pushed back down again, gasping as Gabe’s dick pushed deep inside of him once more.  He could hear Gabe panting and he picked up his slow pace. He fucked himself down onto Gabe, each thrust going harder and faster.  Gabe’s cock slid against his prostate and Sam almost screamed.  

 

It felt so perfect and he wanted more.  He wanted Gabe to be so deep inside of him, and he choked out the other man’s name a few times as he moved.  Sam began to bounce on the thick cock as fast as he could, thoroughly fucking himself. His hole was so stretched that Sam knew he was going to pay for it in the morning, and he didn’t care one bit.  Gabriel’s hands were gripping his hips the entire time and Sam hoped that there would be bruises there when he woke up.

 

“Fuck, kiddo,” Gabriel breathed.  “My cock looks so good disappearing into your tight little ass.  You’re riding me so well! You’re such a good boy for me Sammy. That’s it, kiddo!  Ride me like you mean it! Fuck you’re so good—oh babe! Yes! I love watching you fuck yourself on me.  You’re so sexy, Sam!” Gabriel grunted harshly as Sam took him in deeply. “You’re fucking amazing kiddo!  You look so fucking hot riding me like this! I could watch you do this all day. You look so good on my cock, Sam—feels so good!  You are so  _ dirty _ aren’t you?  You fucking naughty boy!  You fucking love this, don’t you?  Oh yeah, kiddo—you’re amazing!”

 

The praise falling from Gabe’s lips made Sam want to do more.  He wanted to hear how wonderful Gabriel thought he was. He fucked himself back down and rocked his hips so that his ass was rolling back toward Gabriel with every thrust.  “Yeah, Sam—do that again! You are so fucking hot! I want to fuck you  _ all _ the time!”  Gabriel’s words were like music to Sam’s ears.  

 

He wanted to do so well for Gabe.  He wanted this to happen again and again.  Just as that thought crossed his mind, Sam involuntarily clenched his inner muscles around Gabe’s dick, drawing a loud, dirty moan from the shorter man.  “You’re gonna kill me, kiddo,” Gabe gasped.

 

Sam grunted and continued to move.  He could feel his orgasm building in the base of his balls.  The thought that maybe they could do this again and the fact that the cock buried in his ass was perfectly brushing his prostate had Sam almost undone.  He was going to come untouched for the first time. Gabriel was going to make him come on his dick alone, and Sam found that incredibly sexy. It made his orgasm build even higher and Sam knew that he wouldn’t be long.

 

“I’m almost there,” he cried as he fucked backward onto Gabriel.

 

“Me too,” Gabe assured him, digging his fingers deeper into Sam’s sides.  “I’m going to come in your ass so hard.”

 

A deep moan sounded from the back of Sam’s throat as he pushed down again, rocking onto Gabe’s cock.  “I’m so close,” Sam said.

 

He bounced harshly to the point that it almost hurt and he felt Gabriel punch out a breath.  “You’re so fucking gorgeous!” 

 

Fingers dug deeply into Sam’s skin, holding him tight.  He felt Gabriel’s whole body go still beneath him and a warmth inside as Gabe came hard into the condom.  Sam was almost there.  

He tightened around Gabriel causing the other man to cry out and he fucked downward once more.  “That’s it, kiddo,” Gabriel praised. “Oh yeah! Come for me!”

 

It took three more deep thrusts before Sam was suddenly screaming deeply as he came hard.  Thick strings of white cum shot from his untouched dick, dripping onto the bed in front of him.  He stilled, his thighs shaking from the exertion and Gabe’s cock still stuffed up his ass. He could feel Gabe softening inside of him, but Sam didn’t want to move.  He wasn’t ready to be empty again. Gabriel’s dick felt so good—he wanted more.

 

After a moment, he finally pushed up, letting the cock slide out of him.  Sam swung his legs over Gabriel and practically collapsed onto the bed next to his lover.  As he tried to catch his breath, he could see Gabriel removing the full condom and tossing it into a small garbage can near the bed.  Gabe rolled over, pulling his arms around Sam and leaning up, kissing him lightly on the corner of his mouth. “You just blew my mind, kiddo,” Gabe said happily.  “I haven’t come that hard in years.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve  _ ever  _ come that hard,” Sam breathed.

 

“You didn’t touch yourself,” Gabriel observed as he nibbled a little on Sam’s ear.  “You came just from fucking yourself on my cock.” Sam nodded and moaned. He loved when people played with his ears.  “Do you have any idea how hot that is? Fuck, kiddo—I want to do that to you every night.”

 

They both paused at the words and pulled back to look at one another.  Gabe cleared his throat with a tinge of embarrassment. “I mean, that’s just a thing that people say in the heat of the moment, you know?”  Gabe stammered a bit. “I wouldn’t mind fucking you again, but this is—“

 

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said, pulling him down for a kiss.  “We’re just fucking. That’s all. This is casual.”

 

“Right,” Gabe sighed in relief.  “But this  _ is _ going to happen again.  I  _ am _ going to fuck you raw sometime soon,” he promised.  “Push you face down on this bed and fuck you from behind until you’re crying to come.”

 

“Can’t wait,” Sam said.

 

Gabe pulled at his hand lightly.  “Come on,” he said. “Join me in the shower.  I’ll soap you up.”

 

He let Gabriel lead him into the bathroom and smiled happily as they stepped into the warmth of the shower.  “So,” Sam said as Gabe rubbed soapy bubbled into his chest. “Did that constitute payment for helping me out?” He teased the shorter man.

 

“Oh no,” Gabriel grinned up at him, letting his hand dip down and circle around Sam’s half-hard cock.  “You’re going to owe me a lot for this favor, kiddo.” He was lazily stroking Sam and it felt amazing. “One fuck isn’t going to do it,” Gabe continued.  “I think I’m going to want you a lot more—if you’re okay with that?”

 

Sam didn’t like to be in anyone’s debt and this was a payment he wouldn’t mind making at all.  “I am more than okay with that, Gabriel.”

* * *

 

 

Dean gasped into Cas’ mouth as his boyfriend pushed hard into him.  He was lying on his back, his legs splayed to the side. Cas was gently stroking his inner thighs and kissing him as he rode him slowly.  Dean couldn’t remember feeling so complete and loved before in his life. Cas brushed his lips along Dean’s jawline and made a sound that seemed like a growl.  It was incredibly hot and Dean huffed in pleasure.

 

Cas reached in between their bodies and grasped Dean’s length in his hand, moving painfully slow.  Dean bucked his hips and clenched around Cas inside of him, hoping to spur his boyfriend to a more frenzied movement.  Castiel had amazing self-control and just continued to lazily pump into Dean’s ass, stroking his cock as though he had all the time in the world.

 

“This,” Dean gasped.  “Is the best vacation ever.”

 

“Glad I made you take some time off then?” Cas laughed huskily and swooped down to capture Dean’s lips once more.

 

“Fuck yes,” Dean groaned.  He thrust upward, fucking himself back onto Cas and grunted loudly.

 

“I guess this means,” Cas pushed into him deep.  “That I’ll be able to convince you to take some more time off for our honeymoon?”

 

Dean’s mind went blank and before he could even register what was happening, he was coming hard over Castiel’s hand.  Cas let loose a moment later, settling deep inside of Dean for his release. Dean blinked as Cas leaned onto his elbow and slowly pulled out.  He turned and watched his boyfriend flop down on the bed beside him with a huff.

 

“Our honeymoon?” Dean looked hard at Cas.

 

Castiel’s eyelashes fluttered and he swung his arm over Dean’s chest and pulled them close.  “I didn’t mean to propose during the act,” Cas said gruffly into Dean’s neck. “That was unexpected.”

 

“Wait,” Dean pushed away slightly and chucked a finger under Cas’ chin, forcing his boyfriend to look at him.  “That was you proposing?”

 

“Apparently not well,” Cas stared at him.

 

“Shit man,” Dean laughed.  “You never actually asked a question.”  He chuckled at his lover’s confused expression.  “You were just kind of, I don’t know,” Dean’s breath caught.  “Making love to me—“

 

“You hate that expression,” Cas frowned.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Dean laughed and pulled Cas in for a quick kiss.  He leaned back and looked into those deep blue eyes. “But that’s kind of what we were doing, right?”

 

“It was,” Cas nodded.

 

“So,” Dean smiled.  “You were  _ making love  _ to me and then you just started babbling about our honeymoon.”

 

“I had a speech,” Cas placed his sweaty palm over Dean’s heart and stared at it.  He glanced up and met Dean’s gaze. “As I said, I didn’t plan on proposing while I was…inside of you.”

 

“Okay,” Dean whispered.  “You’re not now. So…” He lifted his brows and looked hard at his boyfriend.  “Ask me now.”

 

Cas breathed out through his nose and sat up.  Dean followed. He perched on the edge of the bed, completely nude and watched as Cas shimmed to the floor, balancing on one knee.  “Dean Michael Winchester,” Cas said in a grave tone. “I love you.”

 

“I know, Cas,” Dean smiled.

 

“I’m speaking right now,” Cas lifted his brow and stared Dean down.  Dean just grinned back at him. “I love you,” Cas continued. “And I wish for us to remain together always.  I want to wake up to you every morning and hold you each night when we fall asleep. I want to end our days together, sitting in creaky rocking chairs on the porch with Sam and whoever he decides upon, when we’re all elderly and you need a cane to support your bowed legs.”

 

Dean barked out a laugh and snorted.  “You love my legs.”

 

“I do indeed,” Cas was solemn.  “As I was saying,” he met Dean’s eyes.  “I didn’t mean for this to happen in this moment, but I can’t put it off now.”  Dean shook his head, still smiling. “I would be honored if you would accept me as your husband and marry me.”  Cas looked down and seemed to be studying the pattern of the wooden floor beneath them.

 

Dean’s smile grew larger.  “Cas,” he said. “Angel?” Castiel looked up at him and their eyes locked.  “I have one word for you and you better be paying attention when I say it, okay?”

Castiel nodded very seriously.  He seemed apprehensive and Dean almost felt a little bad for dragging this out of his boyfriend.  “Yes,” was all Dean said. Cas tilted his head as though he hadn’t heard. “Cas,” Dean said again.  “I said, ‘Yes.’ I want to marry you.”

 

“You do?” Cas started to smile.

 

“Hell yeah,” Dean shouted.  “More than fucking anything,” he reached down and pulled Cas up off of the floor into his arms.  They collapsed back against the bed together, kissing sweetly. Dean pulled away for a moment and laughed.  “Did you seriously think I was going to say no?”

 

“It crossed my mind,” Castiel said darkly.

 

“You’re a weirdo,” Dean leaned in and kissed the top of his fiancé’s head.  “I fucking love you, Angel. So much. And I want to get all old and ugly with you too.”

 

“I think that we will both remain very attractive as we age,” Cas said plainly.

 

Dean barked out a laugh.  “Well, I know you will, at least.”

 

They kissed once more, their hands roaming over each other’s naked bodies, reveling in the feeling that they were now engaged.  “I have a ring,” Castiel said after a few minutes. Dean perked up and watched as Cas wriggled across the bed and pulled a small, black box out of the bedside table.  They both sat up, facing one another as Cas held it out. Dean gently grasped the box. He looked up and smiled at Castiel before he glanced back down and pried it open.  Nestled inside, was a shiny, silver band engraved with markings that Dean couldn’t make out.

 

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean whispered.  “It’s awesome.”

 

“It was my grandfather’s,” Cas said.  “Gabriel had it, but he figured I would get more use out of it since he is addicted to one-night stands.”  Cas smiled at him tentatively. “I hope you like it.”

 

“I love it,” Dean said.  “I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Dean,”Cas kissed him and slid the ring onto Dean’s left hand in one fluid motion.  It fit perfectly. 

 

 “I really want to have sex with you again, but I don’t know if I can handle it right now,” Dean said.

 

“I would enjoy if we just held each other,” Cas said, lying down and patting the bed next to him.  

 

Dean sunk down into the blankets and burrowed his face to Cas’ chest, humming.  He relaxed into his fiancée as Cas ran his fingers up and down Dean’s muscled back.  As they snuggled together in the moonlight, Dean lifted his hand up behind Cas’ head and stared at his ring.  He smiled fully at the sight. He knew that he was broken and bruised, but this incredible man loved him anyway.  Dean was going to do everything he had to keep ahold of Castiel Novak for the rest of his life. He drifted off in Cas’ arms and had peaceful dreams.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel has a sense of humor, the bad guys are moving into place, and Sam is a terrible liar.

_ December 30 _ _ th _ _ —9:16am… _

 

“Are you kidding me, Sam-I-Am?” Charlie Bradbury swept into Sam’s office, slamming the door closed behind her and flopping unceremoniously into the vacant chair in the corner.

 

Sam glanced up from his computer and shot her a look.  “What?”

 

“You put me down on the guest list for the museum’s charity gala as a ‘Socialite?’” Charlie rolled her eyes and huffed, crossing her arms.  Confused, Sam shut his laptop and opened his mouth. He was about to speak when Charlie burst out, “Do you know the kind of shopping I have to do for this now?”

 

“What?” Sam repeated.

 

Charlie rolled her eyes and sat up stiffly.  “A socialite, Sam.”

 

“I’m honestly not following you,” Sam said.

 

Charlie licked her lips as she contemplated him.  “Okay,” she said finally. “Jo and I are put down on the guest list as ‘up and coming socialites.’”

 

“Okay?”  Sam had no clue what the problem was.  Weren’t these kinds of things full of rich people?

 

“Come on, Sam,” Charlie said.  “If Jo and I—and especially Jo—are going to pass as some hoity toity, rich society girls, with little purse dogs, and lots of bling, we actually have to shell out the cash to make it believable.”

 

Realization dawned on Sam.  “But, the budget…”

 

Charlie nodded fervently.  “Yeah,” she said. “I just saw the light go on.”

 

“We can’t afford to sanction out money from the budget for some expensive dress.”

 

“Try a designer dress,” Charlie said.  “And jewelry. And shoes,” she added as an afterthought.  “Also handbags maybe?”

 

“Shit.”

 

“Now we’re speaking the same language,” Charlie said.  “There’s also a silent auction at this thing, so Jo and I would probably need some ‘fun money’ so it looks like we’re actually there for a reason.”

 

Closing his eyes, Sam shook his head in frustration.  “I’ll clear it with Bobby.”

 

“Yay,” Charlie said as she stood up.  She walked to the door and turned back.  “Make sure you clear it with him _ before _ lunch because Jo and I are going to have to get something, like,  _ now. _ ”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said with resignation.

 

“Let me know when we’re good to go,” Charlie chirped as she left.

 

Sam re-opened his computer and pulled up his email.  There was a message there from Gabriel. He scanned it quickly, noting that Gabe  _ had _ included all of the people Sam needed on the guest and service lists.  But, yeah, he’d put down two of their agents as ‘VIP Guests’ which totally meant money, and lots of it.  “Damn it, Gabe,” Sam muttered as he pounded out a reply. “This isn’t a fucking joke.”

 

He was pleased to note that he and Victor had been assigned as servers, which would allow them to check out the alternate exits while they were there.  Sam hit the send button, shooting a somewhat snarky email to Gabriel, thanking him for his help. He rested his elbows on his desk and rubbed his temples.  Trying to fight off images in his mind of Gabriel’s lips wrapped around him from the quick blowjob in the kitchen before Sam had left in the morning, had him letting out a grunt.  Those pink lips wrapped around his dick just kept popping up in his mind and it wasn’t helping him get any work finished. Sam shook his head and decided that now was a good a time as any to get some more coffee.

 

He realized his problem once he stood up.  Growling in the back of his throat, he sat back down hard in his chair.  He glanced down at his crotch and tried to will away his untimely erection.  He didn’t need to be thinking about Gabriel Novak in  _ that  _ way when things were this close to being finished.

 

After five minutes, he was just harder than before.  Sam wasn’t going to rub one out in the office, so he grit his teeth and pulled up the schematics of the museum on his computer.  If he couldn’t leave, due to his ‘issue,’ then he could at least use the time for some research.

 

* * *

 

Bela Talbot heard the knock at the door to her hotel suite and firmly closed the large tech book in front of her.  She slid across the bed and walked to the door, her hips swaying underneath the white silk robe. She knew the front was open, but she didn’t adjust anything before unlocking the chain and pulling the door open, revealing a tall man standing in the hallway.

 

“What a surprise,” she cooed.

 

Gordon Walker didn’t say anything as he stepped into the room.  He glanced around him, not seeming to notice that she was almost naked.  Bela shut the door with a click and followed him inside. “You’re prepared for this?” Gordon asked her bluntly.

 

“As I’ll ever be,” Bela smiled.  “Not much else I can do now, except run it through in my head.”

 

“Are you prepared for any…distractions?” Gordon asked, glancing down at the large tome she had been perusing.

 

“Not my job,” Bela shrugged and perched on the edge of the rumpled blankets.  “Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

 

“For basic security concerns, yes,” Gordon gave a short nod.  “I’m talking more about…unseen complications.”

 

“There’s always something, isn’t there?” Bela’s voice was tinged with annoyance.  She knew she was a beautiful woman, and she liked it when men acknowledged that fact.  Gordon didn’t seem to notice her at all, much less her left breast, which was now peeking out of her robe.  Obviously the man with either a fucking robot…or gay. Bela sniffed and stood up, gesturing to the desk in the corner of the room.

 

“I’ve been going over the building layout,” she said, all professional now.  “It looks like the tablet will be in Vault H, which is not along the main corridor.  Lucky us,” she smiled. When Gordon didn’t respond, she continued. “As I said, I can get us inside in less than an hour.  I’m thinking around forty-five minutes, tops.” Gordon gave a barely perceptible nod of his head. “I need this hall clear for the entire time I’m down there.  That means it’s your job to get security upstairs and into the main ballroom.”

 

“Not a problem,” Gordon gave the first ghost of a smile.  “I have that taken care of.”

 

“Excellent,” Bela glanced at him.  “I do love a man who is professional,” she managed.

 

Gordon turned and glared at her.  “Just do what you were hired for and stay out of my way.”

 

“Noted,” Bela said, arching her brow.  She pointed to the printed schematics of the vault system and showed him the exact portion of the hallway that she would be occupying while she broke them in.  “Now, pay attention…”

* * *

 

 

Opening his secure email account, Bartholomew Boyle smiled grimly when he saw a message from Zachariah Adler.  The odious man was the head curator at the museum, so Bartholomew had to make nice…for the time being. Once everything was wrapped up tight and with a bow, he was planning on, ‘parting ways’ with the balding annoyance…permanently.  For now though, Adler just had to assume he was walking away from this with an obscene amount of money.

 

Bartholomew’s eyes grazed over the guest list for the gala which Alder had sent him.  Everything looked in order. He was about to close out the message when a name caught his eye.  He leaned in and focused on the words in front of him.  _ Dean Winchester. _ Bartholomew sucked in a breath.  He hadn’t seen Dean for almost a decade.  Not since that last night. When he had returned that night from a ‘business dinner,’ his loft was quiet and empty.  It didn’t take him long to figure out that Dean had split, taking anything he owned with him. The cocky bastard hadn’t even left a note.  And Bartholomew was the one left holding the bag, so to speak. He was the one who had to make up excuses as to why Dean wasn’t at his parties and events for the next few months.  At least until the nosy questions had finally died off.

 

Gritting his teeth, Bartholomew sent a reply to Adler asking him if the curator had  _ thoroughly  _ vetted the guest list.  Charity events weren’t really Dean’s scene, and now Bartholomew’s suspicions were raised.  He thought back to their time together and let out a breath. One year was a committed relationship, as far as he was concerned.  It still grated him that Dean had left without a word. He hadn’t finished with the agent just yet. It rankled that Dean had taken off before Bartholomew had gotten every bit of information out of him that he could.

 

A dark thought niggled at the back of his mind.   _ Could Dean have suspected? _   No.  Bartholomew was certain that he had covered his tracks.  He had made double damn sure when he had purchased the Rohypnol that there were no defining odors or tastes that would give his plan away.  Dean couldn’t have known. He had been dosing the agent for almost a month before that last day; using the time that Dean was unconscious to hack into his lover’s encrypted computer and find any little scrap of information he could.  Information that had proved invaluable in the past few years.

 

But still, Bartholomew worried.  He tapped his fingers on the top of his desk and stared at the computer in front of him, willing Zachariah’s response to come through.  When the laptop finally pinged with a new email, Bartholomew opened it, reading that, yes, Adler had approved the list. It was probably nothing then.  Could be something else, after all. No sense in calling off all of his hard work just because he was getting a tingle in his nerve endings.

 

Bartholomew closed his computer, leaned back into his chair and smiled.  In less than forty-eight hours, he was going to be one of the richest men in the world.  And he knew that he deserved every penny.

* * *

 

 

He had put off calling Sam for as long as he could possibly stomach.  Dean pressed the call button, dialing his brother. He was anxious and, yeah, pretty nervous about announcing his engagement to Castiel.  He wanted to do it in person, but the timing wasn’t working out and Dean felt itchy keeping the information to himself.

 

Two rings.  Three. The call connected and he heard his brother’s voice say “Sam Winchester speaking.”  He sounded out of breath.

 

“You working out?” Dean laughed.

 

“Ha,” Sam’s voice cracked a little.  “No, just watching some television before the big day tomorrow.”

 

“You’re breathing hard,” Dean pointed out.

 

“No I’m not,” Sam shot back.

 

“Yes you are,” Dean insisted. 

 

“No,” Sam was firm, sounding more in control.  “I’m not.”

 

“Whatever Bitch,” Dean laughed.

 

“Jerk,” Sam responded.

 

There was a scuffling sound as though Sam had dropped the phone and Dean could make out a voice in the background.  “You have a girl there, Sammy?”

 

“No,” Sam’s voice was back.  “No I don’t. Not a girl, no.”

 

“A boy?”

 

“Dean,” Sam huffed.  Dean could practically feel his brother rolling his eyes at him.  “What do you need? I’m a little tied up.”

 

“Yeah you are,” came a tinny voice from Sam’s end of the phone.

 

“Okay,” Dean laughed.  “Mister ‘I’m Alone and Watching TV.’”

 

“I  _ am _ alone, Dean.”

 

“No you’re not,” Dean smiled, placating his younger brother.  “He really likes it when you suck on his nipples,” Dean shouted into the phone, hoping that whoever was with Sam would hear him.

 

There was a loud burst of laughter, which definitely sounded male before Sam was back and yelling at him.  “I’m very busy right now!”

 

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean was doubled over with laughter.  “I just wanted to let you know that Cas proposed and we’re getting married.  I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” He hung up on the sound of Sam shouting questions at him and ignored the immediate incoming call from his younger brother.

 

Castiel walked into the room and sat down on the sofa next to Dean, brushing their legs together.  “How did he take it?”

 

Dean laughed fully.  “I have no idea. He had someone there and it sounded sexy.  I just kind of shouted it at him and hung up. He’ll call back tomorrow or something.”

 

“I still need to inform Gabriel that we are getting married,” Cas said.

 

“So, call him now,” Dean picked up Cas’ phone from the coffee table and tossed it to him.  Cas caught it without even tracking it with his eyes.

 

He leaned in and pulled Cas flush to his side, sucking on his fiancée’s earlobe as Cas made the call.  The phone on Gabriel’s end rang until it connected to voicemail. Cas decided to try again later. He tossed his phone down and crawled on top of Dean, smirking.  The last coherent thought in Dean Winchester’s head that night, was that he was a  _ very  _ lucky man.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T minus 13 hours until showtime...the players are moving onto the board...

_ Thirteen Hours Ago, New Year’s Eve, January 31st—7:15am… _

 

Starting a day at just after seven in the morning was actually a blessing for Sam.  He was usually in the office by five and halfway through his paperwork by this time of day.  Sam settled into his chair in the conference room and took a sip of his bland coffee, wincing slightly at the pull in his ass. 

 

He and Gabriel  _ may  _ have overdone things the previous night.  Fucking Dean, yelling out about his nipples had made things torturous for Sam.  Gabriel had taken full advantage of the information. He’d sucked and pinched and rubbed Sam’s nipples until he’d almost come from that alone.  And once Sam was worked up and panting beneath him, Gabe had slid into him and fucked him until he’d almost blacked out. Sam just hoped that no one would notice if he was limping.  Three times in one night and Sam’s ass was killing him. He knew Gabriel was older, but he fucked like a teenager. Maybe all the sugar helped with turn around?  

 

Shuffling a few papers around, he looked up as Charlie and Jo stumbled in and sank down into their own seats.  They exchanged greetings, but the girls looked half-asleep and Sam was trying not to remember how Gabe had fucked him, because he was already getting a bit of a chub, and he didn’t need that.  Thankfully, by the time that Victor joined a few minutes later, looking poised and professional as he sat down, Sam was almost under control.

 

Victor Henrikson had transferred from the Salt Lake City branch just over a year ago.  He had slid into their team seamlessly, and Sam enjoyed working with him. He was cool under pressure and had displayed an almost sixth sense about when to draw his weapon.  He was an immense asset to the team.

 

Usually Sam would partner with his brother, and Victor and Jo would work together.  But for this operation, with Dean out, Charlie had been brought in. She usually just worked for the IT department, but had trained as a field op and was eager to ‘get back into the action,’ as she put it.  Bobby had already decided that he would be running point from the surveillance van out front, which evened out their team.

 

Sam watched as Charlie drummed her fingers absently on the table top.  She looked hungover, which was kind of odd. Sam had only seen Charlie drunk the one time, and he wasn’t going to forget  _ that  _ adventure any time soon.  Not many people could pull off a full-on Princess Leia Bikini at Comic Con, hammered off her ass and demanding a tattoo.  Charlie managed, and was also endearing doing it. Chuckling at the memory, he smiled at the girls across the table. “Rough night?”

 

“Don’t fucking talk to me right now, Winchester,” Jo snapped.  “You’re on my shit list.”

 

“What did I do?” Sam held up his hands.

 

“This one,” Jo shoved her thumb at Charlie who was now completely face down on the table.  “Dragged me to, oh, I don’t know, about fifty stores to try on dresses! Dresses, Sam! And not like, cute little sun dresses.  Fucking gowns. The salespeople were mean to me and she didn’t help. It was fucking torture.”

 

“Language,” Victor said casually, sipping his own mug of coffee.

 

Jo flipped him off and stuck out her tongue.  Victor laughed. “So,” Sam said. “You don’t like wearing gowns?”

 

“No one does!”  Jo shouted. “And if they say they do, they’re a fucking liar!”

 

The door of the conference room opened and Bobby walked in.  Jo shut her mouth with a snap and Charlie pulled herself up off of the desk with a groan.  “It was kind of fun,” Charlie said as Bobby sat down in the largest chair of the room. “There was that nice sales girl who gave me her number.”

 

“Again,” Jo huffed.  “I don’t play for your team, so hot sales girls don’t really rev my motor.”

 

“I wish you did play for my team,” Charlie batted her eyes at Jo.  “You’d make out like crazy!”

 

“Okay,” Bobby grunted, ceasing the conversation.  “Is everyone clear on what their roles are this evening?”  Everyone but Charlie nodded. She threw Bobby a smart little salute.  He grunted in response. “Doors open at six in the evening, which means I want Victor and Sam inside the building no later than three pm.”  The two agents nodded at their director. “Charlie, Jo,” Bobby addressed them. “You’re on the clock at three with the boys, but you’ll have to go in with the rest of the guests when they open the doors.  Be there early so that you’re some of the first in line.”  

 

Charlie smiled and Jo grunted.  Bobby took it to mean that they understood and moved on. 

“Victor,” Director Singer pointed at the man.  “I want you out of sight as much as possible. I know it’s going to be hard, since Novak got you in as a server, but try and keep to the edges of the room as much as possible.”  Victor nodded and drank another gulp of coffee.

 

“Ladies,” Bobby fixed Jo and Charlie with an intimidating look.  Jo shrank a little, but Charlie just smiled winningly. “Mingle. I want eyes and ears everywhere.  You’ll both be wired for picture and sound. And girls,” Bobby pointed at them firmly. “Find a place for your weapons.  I want you both armed and don’t want to hear about holsters ruining the ‘lines of your dress’ or any of that bullshit. Got it?”

 

“Yes sir,” they both nodded.

 

“Sam,” Bobby’s eyes crinkled when he turned toward him.  “Just…do what you do best. Watch Dean’s back and keep your eyes peeled.”  

 

Sam nodded silently.  “Everyone report in at the standard times, and don’t go getting your asses shot off.”  With that, they were dismissed until they would rendezvous later that night. Sam couldn’t help but feel a zing of excitement.  If everything went according to plan, he might finally be able to collar the bastard known as Bartholomew Boyle, and in the process, save his big brother.

 

* * *

 

Stepping out of the stone, hand-crafted shower of her suite, Bela reached for a towel to run through her long, brown hair.  She dried herself off, watching her own body in the mirror the entire time. She smiled slyly at her reflection before flouncing into the main room.  She dropped the towel in the middle of the room and stepped naked toward the bed. Her movements were precise and almost calculated, despite the fact that she was quite alone.

 

She picked up the sleek, black gown and let the material pool through her fingers.  It had arrived around noon in a large, white box, held by a nervous bellhop. When she’d accepted the delivery, along with pressing a crisp fifty dollar bill into the young man’s sweaty palm, Bela had known it was going to be spectacular.

 

The accompanying note, from Richard Roman himself, had been flattering.  If Bela Talbot had been another women, she might have swooned. But she simply tucked the card away in her travelling case and hung the gown up in order to get a better look.  The neckline was high, which wasn’t what Bela would have chosen for herself, but when she spun the hanger, she grinned seeing how deep the back plunged. It would rest just above the dimples of her ass.  A lady in the front and a good time in the back. She could work with that.

 

Bela took the gown out of its protective bag and fingered the material.  Perhaps, if she played her cards correctly, she could celebrate some of her earnings with Dick on a private island.  A week of fun in the sun and tearing up the sheets was just what she needed. Bela spun to face the full length mirror on the wall near the television and held the gown up to her breasts.  She smoothed the material out over her bare skin and smirked. Yes, if she did exactly what she had planned, she would be taking Mr. Roman home tonight with a cool ten million in her wallet.

 

Bela Talbot couldn’t contain her smile as she headed back to the bathroom to dress for the evening.  She skipped her feet, clutching the silk gown to her body and thought of all the things that were going her way.

* * *

 

 

Dean glared at his reflection in the mirror and pulled at his tie.  He fucking hated wearing clothes like this. He always joked that, as a Fed, he had a special dispensation to never wear a suit because they were just plain awful.  This was basically a full-on tuxedo. He felt ridiculous. He worked his jaw muscles and tried to move his tie once more. It was still all crooked.

 

Watching out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Castiel come up behind him, looping his arms around Dean’s neck.  His fiancée gripped his bowtie and moved it ever so slightly. When he let go, it looked perfect. Dean huffed and nodded his head, turning to look at Cas.  “Of course,” he joked. “You’ve got the magic touch.”

 

“I do what I can,” Cas smiled at him.

 

They gazed at each other for a moment before Castiel broke their eye contact and looked down at the tiled floor.  “Dean,” he said, his voice grave. “If you don’t want to do this, we can cancel. Gabriel wouldn’t care. We can stay home tonight, just us.”

 

“No,” Dean was firm.  He lifted Cas’ face with both hands and held his eyes.  “I want this to be done.” Cas looked uncomfortable. “I’m not going into a marriage with you with Bartholomew Fucking Boyle hanging over our heads, okay?”

 

Cas smiled thinly.  “That’s the first time you have ever said his full name to me.”

 

“Really?” Dean furrowed his brow.  Cas nodded. “Well fuck that. He doesn’t have any hold over me after tonight, got it?  Bartholomew Boyle,” Dean shouted. Cas chuckled a little. “I’ll say it again. Bartholomew Fucking Boyle means  _ nothing _ !” Dean crowed loudly.  “That work?”

 

Cas smiled up at him and pressed his lips to Dean’s.  “We’re going to be late,” he said simply.

 

“Just give me a minute,” Dean said gesturing to his sock-clad feet.  “Gotta put on the torture shoes.”

 

Cas rolled his eyes and left, smiling at Dean as he went.  Dean sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his dress shoes on, one at a time.  They pinched immediately and he grimaced. He hated dressing up. They’d go, make nice with Cas’ brother, Gabriel; eat dinner, maybe  _ one  _ dance, but only if Cas begged for it.  Then they would be home. Dean planned on an early night.  He had plans for Castiel that didn’t involve monkey suits and uncomfortable shoes.

* * *

 

 

Slipping into Gabriel’s office off of the main hallway of the museum, Sam pulled at his own tie and clicked the door in his wake.  He looked up and met the amused amber eyes of Gabriel Novak, standing behind his impressively large desk. “You’re a lifesaver, Gabe,” Sam said.

 

“I know,” Gabriel smiled.  “I’m the best. You adore me.  You can’t live without my beautiful body and you—“

 

“Okay,” Sam held up his hands.  “That is descriptive enough.” He smiled as he walked around the desk, looping his arms around Gabriel’s waist.

 

“You clean up nice,” Gabe commented, stretching his legs and capturing Sam’s mouth with his own.  “Mmmm,” Gabriel hummed, pulling back.

 

Sam smiled down at him.  “You like this?” he gestured at his wait-staff get up.  “You should see me in a tux.”

 

“I might have to carve out some time in my schedule for that,” Gabe looked at him appraisingly.  “I really want to bend you over my desk and make you scream my name.”

 

Pressing one more kiss to Gabriel’s mouth, Sam swore that it would be the last one.  He stepped out of the smaller man’s arms and cleared his throat. “So,” he said awkwardly.  “Victor is all set up in the kitchen. He seems fine, but he’s eating all of the appetizers on his tray, so that’s an issue.”  Gabe waived his hand uncaringly. “The rest of my team will be coming in with the guests. And I’m going to be around.” He fixed Gabe with a hard look.  “ _ Don’t  _ come and talk to me.  You can’t draw attention to me.”

 

“It’s going to take all of my willpower to avoid a specimen of man such as yourself,” Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows.  At Sam’s glare, he laughed and gave the taller man a quick kiss on the cheek. “Relax, ‘Squatch,” Gabriel’s voice was light.  “I know how to avoid talking to ‘the help.’”

 

“Great,” Sam tried not to let the comment sting.  “I’ll see you out there.”

 

“Sam?” Gabriel asked him before he left.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You’ll make sure nothing happens to my baby bro, right?”  Gabriel looked even smaller than usual. He seemed almost…scared.  Which raised every protective instinct that Sam Winchester possessed.

 

“With my life,” he promised seriously.

 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Gabe said.  He sounded like he was joking, but they both knew that he wasn’t.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is nosy, Crowley shows his face, and Gabriel leaves a trail of breadcrumbs...

_ New Year’s Eve, December 31st—5:53pm… _

 

Dean shook his head when they stepped out onto the street.  Cas had rented a freaking limo for the night. He didn’t want to know how much money this little extravagance had set his lover back, due to the holiday.  Castiel wasn’t really a flashy guy, so Dean was on alert as they approached the long, black town car. “You aren’t planning anything, are you?” he asked as he slid into the backseat.

 

“No,” Cas joined him, tilting his head to the side.  “Would you like a surprise?”

 

“Not tonight,” Dean said gruffly.  “Let’s just do this and get it done.  Put it behind us, okay?”

 

Cas simply nodded and turned to look out of the window as they pulled away from the curb.  Suddenly, Dean felt kind of bad. He wanted Cas to be romantic and surprise him if he felt the need.  Looking back on it, his question seemed as though he were angry, and he wasn’t. Dean huffed out a breath and firmly placed his hand on Cas’ thigh, quite high up.

 

His fiancée turned to him with a question in his bright, blue eyes.  Dean bobbed his head and flapped his mouth open a few times, trying to find the right words.  “I don’t mean that I don’t want to spend time with you Cas.”

 

“I know that,” Castiel looked at him seriously.

 

Dean inched his hand up, almost brushing Cas’ groin.  “I like it when you do things for me. It…makes me feel, you know, special and all that shit.”

 

Ignoring Dean’s hand, Cas pressed the back of his wrist to Dean’s forehead.  “Are you feeling alright?”

 

Batting his lover’s hand away, Dean attempted a laugh.  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He ran his tongue over his lips and tried again.  “I’m trying to say,” he started. “I want this to be a good night.”

 

Smiling, Cas kissed Dean’s freshly shaved cheek.  “It will be.” They sat still as the car bounced along, Dean running his fingers over the zipper in Cas’ tuxedo pants.  Finally he felt a hot breath in his ear. “You need to stop that, Dean.”

 

“I don’t want to,” he replied playfully.

 

“I’m not walking into my brother’s museum with an erection,” Cas said insistently.

 

“Well,” Dean rubbed Cas a little harder.  “If you get one, then maybe I’ll just take care of it right here before we go inside.”

 

“Dean,” Cas protested, even as his hips bucked upward toward the friction.  “Stop.”

 

“You really want me to stop, Angel?” Dean said, kissing the corner of Cas’ mouth as he worked his lover’s zipper down.

 

“Yes,” Cas hissed, his cock jumping in Dean’s hands.  “Please.”

 

“Okay,” Dean said as casually as he possibly could.  He withdrew his hand and zipped Cas’ pants back up, placing his folded fingers in his own lap.

 

“You’re a horrible tease,” Cas chastised.  But he didn’t sound very upset. Dean grinned to himself.  “I might have to punish you for being such a naughty boy when we get home.”

 

Dean’s own cock sprang to life at those words and he let out a soft moan.  “Shit, Angel,” he gasped. He was so into his fiancée that Cas didn’t even have to touch him to have such a huge reaction.

 

“Now you know how it feels,” Castiel smirked at him.

 

“You suck,” Dean whispered as the car began to slow to a stop.  “Looks like we’re here,” he glanced out of the window and peered up at the impressive façade of the museum.  The driver came around and opened the rear door for them. 

 

Cas exited first and then held out his hand for Dean to grasp.  Dean let Cas help him out of the car and onto the sidewalk. He felt Cas’ hand slide down his back, resting right above his ass with a firm press.  Possessive. “Best behavior,” Cas said lightly into his ear.

 

“Yeah,” Dean smiled.  He was prepared for the worst, but he was going to do his damndest to make sure this was a night to remember.

 

* * *

 

They approached the entrance to the museum.  Most of the doors had been locked for the night and everyone was being ushered in through one set of double doors.  Cas kept his hand on the small of Dean’s back as they waited in line. Dean kind of liked how comforting it was. He didn’t want to be here, but he knew Cas was on his side.

 

His training kicked in as he scanned the line.  He tried to pick out familiar faces, anyone he might recognize from his time with Bartholomew, but no one jumped out at him.  He was pleased to note that while there was an armed guard checking invitations with a list, there was no metal detectors. That would make it easier for a bad guy if something went down, but it also meant that the weapon tucked into his side from his shoulder holster wouldn’t be noticed.

 

He glanced down the line of people once more and quickly picked out Jo standing about four people behind him.  He nodded slightly, but she didn’t seem to notice him. He knew that she would ignore him on purpose. He wasn’t involved with this.  He was here for closure, not an arrest.

 

They reached the front and Castiel pulled two tickets from the inside of his jacket.  “Winchester and Novak,” he announced. The guard scanned his clipboard and made two marks before stepping aside and allowing them entrance. 

 

The main foyer of the museum had no extra decorations besides small twinkling lights.  Various pieces of the establishment’s collection were on their usual displays. A sculpture was situated dead center of the giant room, but Dean had no idea what it was actually supposed to be.  It looked sort of like a wave, but also a dragon. He shook his head and moved his gaze. “Where to?” he asked Cas. For some reason, that he couldn’t quite pinpoint, the statue had put him in a foul mood.  Dean was remembering all of the reasons that he didn’t want to be here.

 

Castiel inclined his head toward the left and steered Dean in that direction.  They passed a bar, manned by a twenty-something in an ill-fitting uniform and Dean licked his lips thinking of a smooth glass of scotch.  Cas kept walking though, so Dean followed, even though his palms were itching for some liquid courage. “Hey,” Dean tugged on his lover’s sleeve.  “Hold up.” He pulled to the side and brought Castiel with him. “Let’s get a drink before we circle the room,” he suggested.

 

Cas shrugged, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him.  Dean walked over to the bar, with Cas trailing behind him.  He leaned on the counter and smiled at the kid who was working.  “Double scotch on the rocks,” he said, throwing in wink in for good measure.  He couldn’t tone down the flirting, even if the bartender looked about nineteen and was way too scrawny and acne-ridden for Dean’s taste.  He could feel Cas’ eyes roll behind him. “Angel?” he turned to Castiel.

 

His fiancée looked at him with an unreadable expression before turning to the young bartender and sighing, saying, “Water, I guess.”

 

Dean slapped his hand on Cas’ shoulder and said in a strange, fake accent, “Water for my gentleman here.”

 

The bartender looked at them both as though they had sprouted antennae, but moved to fill their order.  As he turned away from them, Castiel narrowed his eyes and looked at Dean. “Are you feeling alright?”

 

“Peachy, Cas,” Dean said gruffly.  “Why do you ask?”

 

“No reason,” Castiel’s voice trailed off and he gazed around the room while they waited.

 

The bartender returned with their drinks, setting them down in front of Dean with a bland look.  “Thanks,” Dean said to him. He picked up his glass and took a long swallow. He could feel Cas’ eyes on him as he gulped down the alcohol.

 

“This isn’t really a venue where one would wish to be completely intoxicated,” Cas’ voice was low as he leaned in toward Dean.

 

“I’m just trying to get through this, Cas,” Dean lowered his glass and fixed his fiancée with a hard look.  “I’m doing my best, okay?”

 

Castiel didn’t respond.  He turned when someone laid a hand on his shoulder and saw that it was his brother, Gabriel.  “Glad you could make it boys,” Gabe smiled at them. His eyes kept darting around and Dean watched Gabriel closely.  The assistant curator seemed uneasy, and Dean wasn’t sure that he liked that.

 

“It’s a lovely event,” Castiel complimented his brother.

 

“Yeah, I outdid myself this year,” Gabe glanced carelessly around at the lights and the pieces on display.  “Pretty good turn-out too.” He looked over at Castiel and said, “You never told me why you wanted tickets so badly.”

 

Cas slid a glance at Dean that was barely noticeable.  “No,” he said smoothly. “I didn’t.” The three men stood in silence until Cas cleared his throat and in an unconvincing tone said, “I just thought it would be an interesting night.  Something different.

 

Dean snorted into his glass and took another drink.  Gabriel looked between them and finally shrugged, saying, “Okay, then.  Whatever. Glad you made it.” He saw a couple passing them and patted Cas’ arm.  “I’ve got to go schmooze. Have fun, you two.” He was gone in an instant, leaving Dean and Castiel alone once more.  Dean didn’t like the way that Gabriel’s eyes were constantly moving as he left, as though the shorter man was watching for something—or someone.

 

After a few moments, they moved away from the bar as well and took up a spot along one of the walls.  Cas pretended to be incredibly interested in the painting hanging behind them while Dean just kept watching the people moving around.  They were all smiling and laughing. Snagging cocktails and finger foods from passing waiters bearing large silver trays of goodies. Everyone looked relaxed, as though this was the best time of their lives.  Dean just didn’t get it.

 

A well-dressed man moved through the crowd and caught Dean’s eye.  He was tall, blonde and had wide shoulders despite his rather narrow hips.  Dean’s breath caught as he recognized the profile. Cas heard his intake and turned to him with a question in his eyes.  Dean didn’t speak, he just kept watching as Bartholomew bent his head to hear what the woman next to him was saying. Castiel followed his gaze and he pursed his lips.  Resting his hand lightly on the small of Dean’s back, he said, “I’m right here.”

 

Dean couldn’t seem to make his brain connect with his mouth.  He finally choked out, “I didn’t really expect to see him here.”  Cas watched him intently. Dean took another long drink and let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.  “I know that’s why we’re here,” he said, turning slightly toward Cas. “I know that. But part of me was sort of hoping he’d be a no-show.”

 

“That would defeat the purpose,” Castiel pointed out.

 

“I know that,” Dean repeated, grinding his teeth.  He physically turned his body away from where Bartholomew was standing.  Looking at the man made him feel physically ill.

 

A flash of flaming red caught his eye and Dean saw Charlie Bradbury a few feet away, speaking with a relatively short man in a dark suit.   _ What the hell was she doing here? _   Bobby rarely let Charlie into the field and her presence did nothing for Dean’s already shot nerves.

 

She was wearing some sort of silky, fire-engine colored dress that swirled around her ankles and dipped  _ way  _ too far into her cleavage for Dean’s taste.  Charlie was like his sister, and the guy she was talking with looked incredibly shady.  Dean noticed that the man’s eyes kept darting down to take in Charlie’s rack.

 

He pulled lightly on Cas’ sleeve and jerked his head towards his friend.  “Come on,” he began walking through the crowd, confident that Cas was following him.  Dean sidled up next to Charlie and pushed himself into the conversation. He turned to the man with what he hoped was a threatening look.  “Hey there,” he said.

 

“Hello,” Charlie smiled at him, but acted as though she didn’t recognize him.  Her mouth was set in a thin line and Dean knew that she wanted him to go away. He felt Cas move at his side, standing almost too close, watching the three of them carefully.

 

“How are we all doing this evening?” Dean said, not taking his eyes off of the man Charlie had been speaking with.

 

“Excellent,” the man spoke.  He had a smooth English accent that Dean hadn’t been expecting.  He hated it when people he was trying to intimidate had sexy accents.  That just wasn’t fair. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” the man held out his hand to Dean.  They shook and Dean could tell the other man was trying to maintain a strong grip. “Crowley,” he said.  “Fergus Crowley. And you are?”

 

“Robert Plant,” Dean lied.

 

Crowley raised his eyebrows.  “As in, the singer for Led Zeppelin?”

 

_ Shit. _   Dean should have known that a British dude would recognize the name.  He waited a beat before saying, “Yeah. No relation, though.” He gestured to Cas.  “This is my partner—“

 

“Britney Spears,” Cas deadpanned, looking exasperated.

 

Charlie giggled at his side and Dean deflated a little.  “Pleasure to meet you Britney,” Crowley said giving a chuckle and shaking Cas’ hand.  “So,” he looked back at Dean. “How are you acquainted with Miss Middleton here?” Crowley gestured to Charlie.  Dean took a moment to remember the alias that Charlie often used when she was allowed in the field.

 

“Oh, I’m not,” Dean said, smiling at Charlie.

 

She snorted a little and held out her hand to shake.  “Celeste Middleton,” she said, pretending to introduce herself.  She turned back to Crowley. “We’ve never met, but I’ve seen him around at these kinds of things.  He’s kind of hard to miss, isn’t he?”

 

Crowley was apparently an equal opportunity ogler, because his eyes swept down Dean’s body, lingering on his groin before he looked up and smiled.  “Oh yes,” he agreed. “He is  _ very  _ noticeable.”

 

Dean blushed under the scrutiny.  Cas didn’t seem to even notice that this Crowley character was leering at him.  “Whereabouts in England are you from?” Castiel asked him.

 

“Oxford mostly,” Crowley responded.  “I’m in town on business.”

 

“What kind of business?” Dean asked quickly.

 

Crowley gave him another mysterious look.  “The kind that makes a lot of money.” The two men stared at each other for a beat and Charlie shifted her feet, noticeably uncomfortable at the exchange.  “I have an appointment with Richard Roman later,” Crowley finally acquiesced. 

 

“Wow,” Dean said, tipping his almost empty glass in Crowley’s direction.  “He’s probably the richest guy in the city.”

 

“Quite,” Crowley said blandly.

 

“Oh,” Charlie said abruptly.  “I’m so sorry to dash, but I just spotted one of my sorority sisters from...Bryn Mawr.”  She scurried away, shooting a glare at Dean. He winked at her.

 

“Alas,” Crowley said, sounding anything but apologetic.  “I must also take my leave. They’ll be seating soon for dinner and I wish to peruse the silent auction before then.  Excuse me. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Plant and…Britney,” he laughed a little as he walked away.

 

“What was that?” Castiel looked at Dean, his brow furrowed.

 

“I don’t know,” Dean hedged.  “He was hitting on Charlie and it pissed me off.  I thought I’d rescue her.”

 

“Charlie can handle herself,” Cas pointed out.

 

“I know,” Dean hung his head a little.  “Plus, I shouldn’t be calling attention to her when she’s working.  I know that. Shit.”

 

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas told him.  “That man, Crowley, was rather forward.  He was practically undressing you with his eyes.”

 

“You noticed that?” Dean said, surprised.

 

Cas levelled him with a glance.  “I did. I didn’t like it either.”

 

Dean slung an arm around his fiancée’s shoulder and pulled Cas into his side.  “Good to know. You’re kind of sexy when you’re jealous, you know.” Castiel just grunted at him.  “Boyle’s back at the bar,” Dean said suddenly. “I don’t want to go over there right now.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Cas assured him.  “We can look at the items up for auction, as long as you don’t mind possibly running into Mr. Crowley again.”

 

“Sounds like a good a plan as any,” Dean shrugged.  “Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

“Dean almost fucking outed me,” Charlie hissed as she slid up next to Jo.  The other female agent was in a plain black gown and constantly fidgeting as she stood glowering in the corner.  “Holy hurricane, Batman,” Charlie glanced at Jo. “You look super weird just glaring at people. You’re standing out.”

 

“I don’t like it here,” Jo grumbled.

 

“That’s obvious,” Charlie said.  “But you’re sticking out like a sore thumb.”

 

A waiter passed in front of them and paused, holding out a large tray of food.  “Blue cheese and pear tartlets, ladies?” They looked up to meet Sam smiling at them.

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Charlie grabbed three of them and stuffed one into her mouth, chewing like a chipmunk.

 

Jo rolled her eyes, “And you think  _ I  _ stick out?”  Charlie shrugged and kept eating.

 

“Anything yet?” Sam’s voice was low.

 

Shaking her head, Jo snagged one of the tartlets for herself and glanced over to Charlie who was attempting to swallow her food.  Finally, nodding her head, Charlie pointed with her eyes toward the back of the room where the silent auction had been set up. “I met a guy named Fergus Crowley.  He mentioned that he has a meeting with Dick Roman later. Could be something. He was shady enough, that’s for sure.”

 

Sam looked over and spotted the man who Charlie had been speaking with earlier.  “You think he’s involved?”

 

“I don’t know,” Charlie admitted.  “I was starting to get somewhere with him when fracking  _ Dean _ popped up and ruined everything.”

 

Sam sighed and his shoulders slumped.  “I knew it was going to be too difficult to run this op with him here and not in the loop.  I  _ knew  _ it.”

 

“He and Cas introduced themselves as ‘Robert Plant’ and ‘Britney Spears,’” Charlie rolled her eyes.

 

Sam groaned and shook his head.  Jo laughed sharply and said, “Please tell me that Dean was Britney.”  Both Sam and Charlie shook their heads in the negative.

 

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam muttered.  “Okay,” he said finally. “I’m going to find Victor and then check in with Bobby outside.  Keep an eye on this guy—“ He trailed off.

 

“Crowley,” Charlie supplied.

 

“Yeah, Crowley,” Sam said.  “I’m going to see if Bobby can dig something up on him from the mobile command unit while we’re here.”

 

Charlie wiggled her fingers at Sam as he walked away.  “Aye, aye, Captain,” she joked. Jo just glared at her and took a bite of her appetizer.

 

* * *

 

Sam moved through the room as quickly as he could.  People kept stopping him so that they could sample the food on his tray, which slowed him down, making him impatient.  He neared the staff doors near the back of the room and saw Dean and Cas wandering around amongst the auction items. Pressing his finger to his ear, he activated the tiny microphone hidden there.  Bobby’s voice came through almost instantly.

 

“Anything so far?” the Director barked at him.

 

“Not yet,” Sam said, slipping into the back under the pretense of refilling his appetizer tray.  He relayed what Charlie had told him about Fergus Crowley. Bobby had huffed and promised that he would get right on collecting information about the smarmy Englishman.

 

Walking over to where the appetizers were laid out for restocking, Sam saw Victor popping some of them into his mouth and chuckled.  “Didn’t have time for dinner tonight,” Victor said as he chewed. “Figure they won’t miss a few pieces.”

 

“Whatever gets you through the day, right?” Sam quipped.

 

“You know it.”

 

The two men caught up with the operation quickly and Victor left to go back out front with a tray of some sort of seafood dish.  Sam was filling his tray when fingers pressed against his spine. He jumped slightly, a little pissed off that he had allowed someone to sneak up on him.

 

“Woah, there, Karate Kid,” Gabriel joked.  “You almost punched me.”

 

“Sorry, Gabe,” Sam said resignedly.  “You’re not supposed to be around me right now,” Sam pointed out.

 

Gabriel shrugged and grabbed one of the balls containing seafood and poked at it.  “I missed you,” he said casually.

 

“What?” Sam raised his eyebrows.

 

“I’m joking,” Gabriel said lightly.  “I saw Boyle earlier talking to some woman I don’t recognize.  Wasn’t sure if you had seen him yet.”

 

Sam shook his head. “No,” he replied.  “I haven’t got eyes on him.”

 

“He’s talking to that woman and my boss right now,” Gabriel told him.  “I could go join the conversation since I’d have an excuse with Adler there.  Come back here later and I’ll let you know what I hear?”

 

“That could be dangerous,” Sam narrowed his eyes.  “I don’t want you in harm’s way.”

 

“Please,” Gabriel laughed.  “I’ve seen my share of action.”

 

Somehow Sam doubted that.  However, he realized that despite Gabriel being Castiel’s brother, and the fact that they had torn up the sheets together five times now, he had never run a background on the shorter man.  That wasn’t like him. Sam always ran checks on anyone involved in his life. It was safer that way. “I’m not saying no,” he looked at Gabe. “But don’t go wading into the shark tank if you don’t have to, okay?”

 

“Trust me,” Gabriel spun on his heel and started to leave.  “I’ve dealt with plenty of sharks before, kiddo.”

 

Sam watched the sway of Gabe’s ass as he swung through the door to rejoin the party.  He shook his head and paused. Before he could think any harder he activated his ear piece once more.  “Hey, Bobby,” he said.

 

“Yeah,” came the gruff reply.

 

“I need you to run a check on someone else in attendance here,” Sam felt the beginnings of guilt welling up in his gut.  “I need the results ASAP.”

 

“Name?”

 

“Gabriel Novak,” Sam pushed down the roiling in his stomach as he said his current sex-friend’s name.  Fuck buddy? FWB? He didn’t really know where he and Gabriel stood. Sexy acquaintance? Maybe.

 

“The assistant curator?” Bobby’s voice was sharp.  “Hell boy, I thought you’d already vetted him. Isn’t he helping us?”

 

Sam winced.  “Yeah, I did,” he lied.  “I just did some surface stuff though.  Can you dig deeper?”

 

Bobby huffed over the line and muttered something that Sam didn’t catch.  “I’ll get back to you within twenty minutes.”

 

Thanking his superior, Sam hefted his tray over his shoulder and went back out to the main event.  He felt guilty looking into Gabriel’s past behind his back, but he knew that it was the right thing to do.  Something wasn’t sitting right with Sam Winchester and that was never a good feeling.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas finds a bee, Dean finally comes face to face with Barty, and Gabe is a secret badass...

_ 6:22pm… _

 

He was trying to pay attention to what Cas was saying, he really was.  But Dean’s eyes kept wandering to the room behind them, seeking out Bartholomew.  His ex was always in the thick of some sort of conversation and it seemed as though everyone around him was entranced.  Dean could remember how much of a magnetic pull the other man had—the thought made his stomach curl. In the moment, he had thought that he had genuine feelings for Boyle.  As time wore on, and things started to get fuzzy, he realized that he was just obsessed with the  _ idea  _ of being in love.  Now that he had Cas, he knew that his feelings for Bartholomew had been a paltry imitation of the real thing.

 

Castiel was pointing at a small statue on the table in front of them.  There was a placard with the number fifteen in front of it. “What?” Dean said, pulling his eyes away from his ex-boyfriend.

 

“I was saying that it’s a shame that neither of us make enough money to actually bid on anything,” Cas sighed.  “I rather enjoy this piece.”

 

Dean looked at the statue and tilted his head to the side.  It looked sort of like a bumble bee, but almost as though it had been crafted by a kindergartener.  “Really?” he asked. “Hell,  _ I _ could probably make that.  It’s not very good.”

 

Cas hummed.  “It looks as though it's moving.”

 

“That’s because the wings are lopsided,” Dean said critically.  “If you really want a clay bee statue, I’ll take you to that art studio down the street that lets you make shit while you drink.  How does that sound?”

 

Shrugging, Cas moved away and went to look at another piece.  Dean looked back over his shoulder, trying to find Bartholomew again.  He felt better when he knew the man’s exact position. He didn’t want that douchebag sneaking up on him.  Twisting slightly, Dean repositioned his feet. Bartholomew wasn’t in the same place as before and Dean didn’t see him anywhere.  He was so intent on his visual search that he didn’t even see Fergus Crowley approach him.

 

“Seeking out alternative company when  _ Britney _ is already such a fine specimen?” Crowley purred at him.

 

Startled, Dean looked down at the shorter man and glared.  “I thought I saw someone I knew,” he said.

 

“Sure,” Crowley gave him a smirk.  The Englishman slid his eyes over to Castiel and then back to Dean.  “You two seem quite close,” he observed. “How do you feel about sharing?”

 

“What the hell?” Dean took a step backward, bumping into a server.  “Sorry man,” he mumbled. He flushed when he realized he had backed into his brother.  Sam was looking at him strangely but didn’t say anything before moving off though the crowd.  Dean turned back to Crowley with a hard look. “We aren’t into that.”

 

“Pity,” Crowley’s tone indicated that he didn’t really care either way.  “Always nice to mix a little pleasure into a business trip. Alas.” He looked over Dean’s shoulder to the auction table.  “Are you bidding on anything?”

 

“I don’t know,” Dean said.  “Maybe. Are you?”

 

“I rather like that piece,” Crowley pointed to the off-kilter bumble bee. 

 

Dean shook his head in disbelief.  He guessed that there wasn’t any accounting for taste when you were loaded.  “So, bid on it then,” he said almost angrily. 

 

He felt something brush his sleeve and looked over to see Cas standing next to him giving Crowley a dirty look.  “Mr. Crowley,” Cas said darkly. “Nice to see you again.” His tone conveyed that it was anything but.

 

“We meet again, Handsome,” Crowley did a strange wave with his hand.  “I noticed you enjoyed that piece.”

 

Castiel turned around and looked back at the strange looking bee sculpture.  “It’s interesting.”

 

“I think I’ll bid,” Crowley slid around them and began to fill out the paper sheet for the silent auction.  It was obvious that he was trying to rile them up. Cas narrowed his eyes at Crowley’s back but Dean didn’t seem to notice.  He was scanning the crowd once more trying to get eyes on Bartholomew.

 

The main lights on the ceiling flashed twice and Dean looked up at them in slight confusion.  There was a small tinkling noise from the center of the room and he saw Gabriel perched on a small, raised platform holding a microphone.  “Everyone!” Gabe called. “If you’ll make your way to our Event Hall, through  _ those _ doors,” he pointed behind him.  “Dinner will be served in ten minutes.  The tables are all marked with name cards.  Thank you  _ so  _ much for joining us this evening!”

 

Gabriel handed the cordless mic to a man next to him and jumped down onto the floor.  Dean immediately lost sight of him in the throng of people moving toward the back of the museum.  Dean felt Cas slip their hands together and they began to follow the rest of the partygoers to the dining area.

 

They passed through the ornately carved silver doors and entered a large room with numerous tables scattered around.  Cas began to glance down at the name cards at each seat, looking for theirs. They found their spots at the fourth table they passed.  Two seats, right next to each other. Dean held Cas’ chair out for him, even as he scanned the room.

 

As Dean took his own seat, he heard Cas mutter next to him.  “Great.”

 

“What?” Dean glanced at his fiancée.  Castiel pointed to the name card at the chair next to Dean’s with a disgusted look on his face.  Dean read it and grunted. Fergus Crowley. Of course. “Awesome.”

 

A chair across from them was pulled out and Dean looked up to see Charlie plopping down in it.  He smiled at her in a friendly way, but she could hardly meet his eyes. This seating wasn’t ideal.  He was supposed to stay far away from whatever his team was working on. That was going to be complicated when he kept bumping into them, deliberately or not.

 

“Celeste, darling,” Crowley’s voice oozed from behind Dean as the Englishman took his seat.  “Lovely to see you again. You too, Mr. Plant,” Crowley winked at Dean.

 

Dean was about to speak when he felt a firm hand cup his knee and squeeze.  His left knee. Not the knee on Cas’ side of the table, because Cas was on his right.  Dean shot up in his chair and coughed loudly. He was about to yell at Crowley when his voice died in his throat.  He stared openly across the table, forgetting absolutely everything as he watched Bartholomew Boyle take the seat next to Charlie.  Dean hardly registered Crowley’s hand disappearing from his leg.

 

“Fancy meeting you here, Dean,” Bartholomew said to him in a mocking tone.  He felt Cas stiffen next to him, and Dean opened his mouth. Nothing came out.  “You don’t really fit into these sorts of events, do you?” Bartholomew unrolled his cloth napkin and placed it on his lap as he spoke.  Charlie was ramrod straight next to him and Dean could feel the tension roiling off of the table. He turned his eyes toward Castiel and said, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

 

“We haven’t,” Cas’ voice was cold.

 

“You must be Dean’s unfortunate rebound,” Bartholomew commented.  Dean felt Cas’ muscles clench beside him. “My condolences,” Dean’s ex went on.  “Winchester here really isn’t worth the effort he requires.”

 

Cas levelled Bartholomew with a glare that was enough to make the other man duck his head, realizing that he might have grossly overstepped.  Castiel turned to Dean and said quietly, “Would you like to leave?”

 

Dean gave a slight shake of his head, still glaring across the table at Boyle.  “Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction,” he growled at Cas.

 

“Well,” Crowley said brightly.  “This ought to be entertaining.”

 

* * *

 

Victor passed by Sam’s shoulder and whispered, “Heads up,” at him.  He jerked his head toward the other side of the room and Sam followed his movement.  His eyes fell on Dean sitting at a table with Cas and a few other people. He zeroed in and realized that Bartholomew Boyle was seated across from his brother.  “Fuck,” Sam murmured. There was no way that was going to end well.

 

“Bobby,” Sam barked into his earpiece.  “We’ve got a problem.” He relayed the seating arrangements to his boss and received a string of curses in response.  “Nothing we can do about it now,” Sam sighed heavily.

 

He looked up and saw Gabriel walking toward him.  As the shorter man passed, Sam snagged his sleeve causing Gabe to glance up at him in surprise.  “How did  _ that  _ happen?” Sam gestured toward Dean’s table.

 

 Gabriel stared for a second before it registered on his face.  “Oh, shit!” Gabe said softly. He pursed his lips for a moment before looking up at Sam.  “Adler made the seating arrangements. I didn’t know.”

 

“This could get ugly,” Sam warned him.

 

“I figured that,” Gabe quipped.  He took in Sam’s expression and his eyes softened.  “Hey,” Gabe patted Sam on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much.  Cas would never let anyone hurt Dean, you know that, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam said after a beat.  “I know. Still, shit.”

 

“I’ve got to go,” Gabriel said.  “Duty calls. Try not to stick your nose in it though, okay?  Cas will handle it if he has to. I have every faith in my little bro.”

 

Sam didn’t reply.  He just watched Gabriel scamper away to get the meal going.  He knew that Gabe was right, there wasn’t anything he could do about the situation now.  And if he made a move, he could blow the entire op right there. Years of work down the drain.  He was just going to have to trust Dean and hope that his brother could keep his control.

 

“Sam, you there?” Bobby’s voice crackled in his ear.

 

“Yeah,” Sam replied quietly.

 

“You okay to talk?”

 

“Give me a second.”  Sam spun and retreated to the staff area so that he could converse with Bobby privately.  Once he was alone, Sam gave his boss the go ahead to continue.

 

“I got some stuff on Novak,” Bobby told him.  “It’s pretty intense.”

 

“Intense, how?” Sam queried.

 

He heard Bobby make a rumbling sound and there was a shuffle of papers.  “Navy man,” Bobby grunted. “You know that?”

 

“What?” Sam was incredulous.  “No. He served?”

 

“Ten years,” Bobby replied.  “Honorable discharge. Worked on the Teams.  Got out and used his GI Bill to go to school for art history or some shit like that.”

 

“Gabe was a SEAL?” Sam almost shouted.  “What the fuck, Bobby?” Sam was having trouble picturing that.

 

“Yeah,” the Director said.  “I wouldn’t have guessed that either.  Shit, Sam,” he sighed. “Most of the stuff I could get a hold of has been redacted.   _ I  _ don’t even have the clearance to see it.”

 

“Damn.”

 

“Did his six with the Teams.  Four years before that enlisted and worked his way up,” Bobby continued.  “He’s one of the good guys, Sam.”

 

“Yeah, obviously,” Sam said.  “I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he could handle himself around sharks.”

 

Bobby barked out a laugh.  “No, he  _ wasn’t _ kidding.”  There was a pause and then Bobby came back on the line.  “He’s good to have in there with you all. If you need his help, then tap him.  I’ll get the clearance for it later. He ain’t exactly a run-of-the-mill civilian.”

 

“No shit,” Sam was having trouble processing this new information.  “Okay,” he said. “You get anything on that Fergus Crowley guy yet?”

 

Bobby made a sound.  “Not much. Looks like he’s from Oxford, England.  Listed as CEO of a plastics company. House worth over a million.  Never married and no record of any children. No criminal record so far.”

 

“That’s it?” Sam wrinkled his nose.

 

“That’s all I’ve found,” Bobby said.  “It seems a little too clean, if you catch my drift.”

 

“Witness protection?” Sam suggested.

 

“Naw,” Bobby huffed.  “Maybe. I don’t know, boy.  Just keep an eye on him. If he’s meeting with Roman, he could be right in the thick of things.”

 

“Will do, Bobby,” Sam signed off.  He blinked and tried to wrap his head around the idea of Gabriel Novak as a freaking Navy SEAL.  It just didn’t compute. This evening was getting weirder by the moment.

 

* * *

 

Sitting at her table near the front of the room, Bela delicately sipped sparkling water from a champagne flute.  She wasn’t about to dull her senses with actual alcohol when she was on a job. She looked at Richard Roman who was seated next to her and smiled flirtatiously.  So far, things were progressing quite well.

 

“I know this may seem forward,” Dick leaned toward her.  “But you are looking especially beautiful tonight, Miss Chandler.” 

 

Bela smiled at the use of her alias.  “You’re pretty dapper yourself,” she returned, clinking her glass to his.

 

“You’re certain you are prepared,” Dick’s voice was low in her ear.

 

“Couldn’t be more ready,” she said.  “You have nothing to worry about Mr. Roman.”

“Excellent,” he curled his lips.  “When Adler takes the stage after the meal, just excuse yourself to the powder room.  You know the way downstairs to the vaults, I assume?”

 

“Committed to memory,” she assured him, tapping her forehead playfully.

 

“Well, Miss Chandler,” he said.  “It has certainly been a pleasure doing business with you.  Perhaps later…” He let the question hang between them, his eyes full of promise.

 

“It would be my pleasure,” Bela murmured.

 

She shifted back into her seat as a uniformed waiter placed an elegant bowl of greenery in front of her.  She thanked him and picked up her fork. The dressing on the salad was tangy in her mouth and she resolved to enjoy her early celebratory meal.  Everything was going according to plan.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets drunk, Gabe steps in, and the evening takes a deadly turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for minor character deaths.  
> Warning for gun violence.
> 
> From here on out, this is going to be a rough ride, kiddos. I will reiterate that this story is NOT MCD. Team Free Love is safe, but anyone else who has died in canon is fair game—so be prepared.

_7:38pm…_

 

Dean began to lose count of how many times he had requested a refill for his scotch.  He knew that both Cas and Charlie were watching him, and he didn’t care. If he was going to sit here and listen to his ex-boyfriend verbally shit on him all night, he was going to get blind drunk.  Most of the others at the table were attempting to eat their meals silently and ignore the barbs that Bartholomew kept slinging at him and Cas. It was awkward, to say the least, and it was making Dean sweat.  He had hardly touched the perfectly rare steak on the plate in front of him. Dean emptied his glass and waved his hand to signal a nearby waiter for another.

 

“That’s quite a tolerance you have,” Charlie commented from across the table, fixing him with a look.

 

“One of my many talents,” Dean snarked.  He was getting progressively more pissed off as each minute ticked by.

 

“Dean,” Castiel glanced at him.

 

“What, Cas?” Dean glared at his lover.  “Aren’t you having fun? I mean, you were the one who wanted to come here tonight.  So, tell me, is it all you had hoped for?” He knew he was being a dick to his fiancée for no reason, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

 

“You let him talk to you that way,” Bartholomew commented.

 

“Stay out of this,” Cas growled at Boyle.  “Dean, perhaps we should leave.”

 

“Nope,” Dean’s lips popped around the word.  “You dragged me here. And now you’re going to lie in the bed you made with your hands.”  He saw Crowley glance at him in confusion. “Lay down in your bedding blankets…on your bed,” Dean tried again.  “Whatever, Cas. You wanted to be here, so deal with it.”

 

“Charming,” he heard Crowley mutter.

 

“What’s it to you, Doctor Who?” Dean spun to face the Englishman.

 

“Dean,” Cas snapped at him.  He was using his super serious, royally pissed off voice.  Dean knew that Castiel was fuming and he tried to remember if he cared.  He was so angry that they were even here. He was mad that Cas had sort of forced him into attending this event, all in the name of ‘moving on.’  He couldn’t remember why he had let Cas talk him into this because it was a stupid fucking idea. Deep down, he could register that he was being a complete asshole, but he childishly wanted to punish Cas for the entire situation.  Bartholomew’s words were cutting him to his very core. He was just lashing out to protect himself.

 

What he didn’t realize was that he was beginning to draw some attention from the surrounding tables. “Back off, Cas,” he snapped.

 

“Hey,” a sharp voice came from behind him. 

 

Dean glanced up to see Gabriel hovering over his shoulder with a pretty terrifying look on his face.  “Mr. Winchester,” Gabriel ground out. “Is there a problem here?”

 

“We’re good, Gabe,” Dean practically shouted.

 

Gabriel pursed his lips and gave a quick nod.  He leaned down and growled into Dean’s ear. “You’re being a fucking distraction!  Making a damn scene! And I’m not going to have you cost me my job just because you’re being a fucking douche right now.”

 

Dean blinked.  He hadn’t expected that.  “Um,” he couldn’t think of anything to say.

 

He could feel Gabe’s fingers grip his shoulder tight enough that it ached and he winced.  “Here,” Gabriel shoved a ring of silver keys into his hand under the table. “Down the hall, last door on the left is my office.  Go in there and cool the fuck off.  I’m not kidding.  Don’t come back until you’re ready to be a fucking adult.”

 

Dean bit his lip and glanced around the table.  Everyone was staring at him and looking embarrassed.  Only Bartholomew was trying to hide a smile, his cold eyes twinkling with a sick sort of glee.  It made Dean want to vomit on him. “Fine,” he said, shoving his chair back roughly. He moved himself out of Gabriel’s grasp and looked down at Cas.  His fiancée was watching him with incredible sadness in his perfect blue eyes. He took a breath and then spat out, “This is all your fault you know.”

 

Castiel’s eyes went wide with hurt but he didn’t speak.  Dean turned away and moved through the tables with as much dignity as he could muster.  He tried to ignore all of the eyes watching him as he made his retreat. At least he had the last word.

 

* * *

  
Sam watched his brother stalk out of the room and disappear though the double doors that led back toward the staff hallway.  Everything inside of him screamed to follow Dean and make sure he was okay, but he knew that he couldn’t. He had a job to focus on right now.  He couldn’t go changing the game plan just because Dean was having what looked like a minor nervous breakdown in public.

 

Pushing down the wave of guilt rushing over him, Sam looked over to the main table and saw that the museum’s head curator was pushing his chair back and starting to head up to the podium.  The show must go on, and all that. That must mean it was almost eight at night. He shot a look at his watch to confirm and then refocused. Sam tracked Zachariah Adler as he climbed the five steps to the raised platform where he would begin making the evening’s speeches.

 

The tall, balding man began to fiddle with the mounted microphone on the podium seemingly unaware that most of the guests were watching him, waiting for the main portion of the evening to begin.  He tried to recall everything he had learned about Adler in the past month. Ever since the museum employee had popped up on their radar with his slightly shady email correspondence, Sam had been trying to commit every detail about the man to memory.  He knew that Adler was unmarried, and seemed to make much more money than was normal for a person with his position. He had multiple gambling debts and a flashy European car parked in his driveway. There was also something about the man’s face that made Sam’s stomach roll, but he couldn’t quite say what it was. 

 

A flash of movement distracted Sam.  The attractive woman who had been glued to Richard Roman’s side all night stood up from her table and walked quickly toward a side door.  No one, except Roman, seemed to pay her any mind. Something felt off in Sam’s gut. He frowned and made eye contact with Victor who was a few feet away.  Agent Henrickson nodded at him and turned to follow the woman out of the main area.

 

He heard the door shut quietly behind Henrickson and immediately put the whole thing out of his mind.  Victor would handle it. He concentrated on Adler who had finally adjusted the mic to his liking and was waving his hands to quiet the crowd.  “Good evening,” Zachariah said in a jovial voice. “I am so honored that all of you lovely people have chosen to ring in the New Year with us here tonight!”

 

There was a loud burst of applause and a few cheers at Adler’s opening words.  Sam absently clapped his hands together a few times. He located Charlie and Jo easily, sitting amongst the rest of the guests.  Charlie was smiling brightly and clapping with enthusiasm. Jo looked like she wanted to stab herself with the salad fork.

 

Discreetly, Sam touched his earpiece and said, “All good here so far,” under his breath.

 

“Keep a sharp eye,” came Bobby’s voice in his head.

 

Adler was now thanking several members of the museum’s staff for their work on the night’s event.  He called off the name ‘Gabriel Novak,’ and Sam smiled when Gabe bounced out of his chair and waved brightly at the surrounding partygoers.  Gabriel made a small little bow and then a ridiculous curtsey before taking his seat once more. Sam didn’t miss the glare that Zachariah shot at his assistant curator.  No love lost there.

 

“Okay, okay,” Adler said into the microphone with an edge.  “There were a lot of people who have worked very hard to make this event a success.  I can’t name off everyone though. So let’s just have a big round of applause for all those who helped out tonight.”  He began to clap, spurring on the crowd to join in.

 

‘What a dick,’ Sam thought.  Maybe he had been spoiled working for Bobby Singer all of these years, but the man was a class act.  He would always give credit where it was due. Bobby would never issue a blanket statement to thank them for a job well done.  Adler obviously wasn’t that kind of guy.

 

Adler droned on for a few more minutes, talking mostly about where all of the money they raised that evening would be going.  Crap about restoring certain ‘important’ pieces of the museums, adding in extra ‘free admission’ days and other things of the like.  As much as he hated to admit it, Sam was tuning most of the speech out. He perked up when he heard Zachariah practically shout the name, ‘Bartholomew Boyle,’ into the mic.

 

At the table that his brother had vacated, Boyle stood in one smooth movement and waved his arms to the crowd as they cheered him on.  Sam rolled his eyes at the display. These people had no idea what a fucking snake Bartholomew really was.  He had everyone around him fooled.  If only people really knew what Boyle was actually capable of...well, he wouldn’t be too popular, that was certain.

 

Boyle walked confidently up to the stage and worked his way to Adler’s side.  The two men shook hands and said something that the microphone didn’t pick up.  Zachariah stepped a few feet away and smiled as Boyle took his place at the podium.  “Thank you all so much for joining us tonight!”

 

The crowd cheered again and Bartholomew’s smile grew.  “I am delighted to be here with you this evening! I know that we all want to ring in the New Year with a bang, am I right?”  The applause was overwhelming.  Sam watched as Boyle basked in the adoration for a moment. 

Once things began to quiet down again, he leaned forward, flashing a few teeth as he spoke.  “Unfortunately,” he reached into his suit and removed his hand brandishing the Kel-Tec PMR-30 handgun.  “There’s been a change of plans for this evening.”

 

Before Sam could make a move, two men seated near the back of the room were on their feet and at the double doors of the room.  One pulled the doors shut, the click of the lock echoing in the now silent atrium. The other had grabbed the lone security guard from his position and shoved the man to his knees.  The flash of a gun barrel was seen, and two bullets were discharged into the back of the guard’s head at point blank range.

 

Fuck!  Sam’s mind was screaming. 

 

Charlie and Jo were both half out of their seats and he tried to get them to stand down without calling attention to himself.  “Ladies,” Boyle’s voice came through the microphone. He was smiling at Charlie, but his gun was pointed directly at Jo’s head, as she was standing closer to the stage.  “Let’s not be hasty.” He waved his gun a little. “Please take a seat for now. I’d hate to have to kill two such lovely girls as yourselves.”

 

Charlie and Jo sank back into their seats, stone-faced.  Sam saw the man earlier identified by Charlie as Fergus Crowley slide something off of the table into his lap.  It distracted him for a split second. Gathering his wits, Sam glanced over his shoulder. Victor was still gone, so there was a chance that he would be able to get through to Bobby.  Sam wasn’t going to risk trying to get through at that particular moment.

 

“No one be alarmed,” Bartholomew said soothingly into the mic.  “I’m only going to need your attention for about an hour and then you're free to go.”  He turned to Adler. “Oh,” he smiled at the curator, whose face was a sickly shade of grey.  “Zach,” Bartholomew grinned. “May I call you Zach? I must admit, I am sorry,” he raised the gun and aimed it at Adler’s chest.  “You’ve been so cooperative, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go.  You understand? Part ways. Head in another direction.”

 

“What?” Adler squeaked.  That was all he got out before Bartholomew pulled the trigger, emptying three bullets into the curator’s chest. 

 

“Thank you for your help, but you’re fired.”  Blood bloomed across Adler’s white shirt and he fell backwards like a stone.  He was dead before he hit the floor.

 

Bartholomew Boyle turned back to the horrified faces of the remaining guests.  “Welcome to my retirement party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line “Welcome to my retirement party,” is directly taken from the Burn Notice episode, ‘Bad Breaks’ (S2 ep13) and is spoken by our favorite villain, Mark Sheppard. 
> 
> A few things in this fic are inspired by that episode where Mark and his lackeys take over a private bank and are outwitted by Michael Westen who makes it seem as though they’re just having bad luck. It’s one of my fave episodes of that show.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor makes a discovery, Gabriel is a stone cold badass, and Dean gets word out to Bobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the pieces are in place for what will turn out to be a very dangerous evening...

_ Right now, 8:15pm… _

 

When Richard Roman’s female companion abruptly left the party, Agent Victor Henrikson had followed his leader’s train of thought immediately.  Sam gave him the signal and Victor didn’t hesitate to discreetly follow the woman out of the room. Honestly, if it had been just about anyone else taking a break right before the speeches began, neither he, nor Sam, would have probably thought anything of it.  However, this particularly gorgeous creature had been plastered to one of their main target’s sides the entire evening. The timing was suspicious.

 

The door clicked shut behind Victor as he stepped into the access hallway.  It was narrow and fully concrete—utilitarian. He knew there were restrooms down here somewhere and assumed that was where the woman was heading.  It was odd that she didn’t use the bathroom directly off of the party, but who knows—maybe she needed some privacy. Sam wanted Victor to follow her and he was going to do just that.

 

A fluorescent light near the end of the corridor blinked and Victor began to make his way down the hall.  The woman was nowhere to be seen. He pushed against the first door he came to, but it was locked. Victor’s dress shoes clicked loudly, echoing ominously.  He checked each door, but none of them seemed to be accessible.

 

At the end of the hall he tried the last exit and was rewarded by it pushing open to reveal a dimly lit stairwell.  As he entered, he heard the crack of a high-heeled shoe from the floor below. Now, certain that something was amiss, he reached for his gun, making as little noise as possible.  The weight was comfortable in his hands and he started to descend the stairs, his weapon at the ready. He reached the landing and checked for any movement. The footfalls had stopped, but Victor knew that he was not alone.

 

Reaching the lower level without incident, he came face to face with a single door.  There was an electronic access card reader. His eyes narrowed as he noticed a thin wire sticking out of the side.  Someone had tampered with it. He grasped the door handle and it moved, opening easily. Whoever had come through here wasn’t worried about someone following them.

 

Victor pressed his own earpiece, but didn’t hear the telltale ping of an active connection.  He wasn’t sure if he was too far below ground for a signal, or if something more ominous was afoot.  Against his better judgement, he kept moving forward. The corridor he was in now ended in about ten feet and continued at a ninety-degree angle to the right.  He could hear something down there, out of sight. A small click followed by an electronic beep.

 

Utilizing his training, he approached the corner and looked around it, clearing the area visually while still maintaining his cover.  At the end of the way, the woman who he was trailing was kneeling in front of a large, metal door. Her evening clutch was on the floor next to her, open.  There were wires and some sort of slim tool poking out of the top of the purse.

 

Moving around the corner, his gun trained on the back of her head, Victor approached almost silently.  The woman hadn’t noticed his presence yet. She pulled something out of her bag and began to use it on the fingerprint scanner situated next to the door.  Victor took one more step toward her, his aim true.

 

“Stand up and turn around,” he said darkly.  “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

 

* * *

 

Sam knew that he would have to risk it.  

 

Bartholomew’s men had locked the doors, sealing them all together; while the man himself had asked for all cell phones to be placed on the tables before instructing the hostages to move to the right side of the room where there weren’t any windows.

 

As people began to place their phones on the tables and stand up, Sam ducked against the wall and hovered behind a large potted plant.  He knew it wasn’t going to do much to hide him, but he only needed a few seconds.

 

Pressing his earpiece to connect he whispered, “Bobby?  Do you copy?” He received only static. Shit. Somehow their communication to the mobile van had been disconnected.  They were on their own.

 

His muscles went rigid as he felt hard metal poke into his spine.  Sam straightened and turned around. A grim looking man stood behind him, aiming his piece at Sam’s midsection.  “I believe you were told to join the others,” his voice sounded robotic.

 

“And I was just on my way to do that,” Sam said calmly.

 

“Problem, Virgil?” Bartholomew’s voice echoed throughout the room.

 

“No,” Sam called over his shoulder.  “There’s no problem. I tripped over my shoelace.”

 

The hostages closest to them were watching with fear in their eyes, holding their breath.  Sam gave the man called Virgil a hard look and then moved to join the others. He let out his own puff of air after a few steps with no retaliation.

 

“Everyone please line up with your backs to the wall,” Bartholomew instructed.  “If anyone else ‘trips over their shoelace,’ I’ll shoot them in the head. And then I’ll shoot whoever is standing next to them for good measure.”

 

Sam managed to wedge himself against the wall in between Charlie and Jo who were both wearing stony expressions.  “You okay?” he asked softly.

 

“No,” Charlie said honestly.  “This is bad, Sam.”

 

“Yeah it is,” he agreed.

 

“If that fucking psycho is willing to kill that easily, what do you think the odds are that any of us are getting out of here?” Jo asked, her voice flat, referring to the brutal deaths of both the security guard and Zachariah.

 

“Not very good,” Sam said.

 

The microphone squealed with feedback and Bartholomew flicked it with his finger before speaking into it.  “One moment,” he said. He pointed toward the wall of hostages, singling one of them out. “Mr. Novak?”

 

Sam tensed and looked down the line to where Gabriel was standing, looking almost bored.  “Mr. Gabriel Novak?” Bartholomew addressed Gabe once again. “I would be ever so grateful if you could join me.”

 

The people closest to Gabe inched away, as though he was much too close for comfort.  Gabe seemed to consider Bartholomew’s words for a second before he pushed lazily away from the wall and walked up to the other man.  “May I be of service?” Gabe said nastily.

 

“Yes, I believe you can,” Bartholomew said.  They were close enough to the microphone that the entire exchange could be heard.

 

Virgil and the man who had killed the security guard were walking up and down the row of hostages, apparently making a headcount.  Sam clenched his fists at his side. When Gabe had started moving, he’d almost jumped up to push him away from Boyle. Only Charlie’s hand on his elbow had stopped him.

 

“What do you want?” Gabe asked, leaning against the podium.

 

“I would very much appreciate it if you told me where Dean Winchester is?” Bartholomew’s voice was placating, yet cold.

 

Sam could see Gabriel’s jaw working and he started to look at the other hostages trying to find Castiel.  He spotted him five people down; staring straight ahead, his eyes blank. Sam knew that he had to move down the row so he could try and get Cas out of this situation.  Dean would kill him if anything happened to Castiel. For that matter, Gabe would too.

 

After a few moments of silence, Gabriel said loudly, “I’m not sure.”

 

Bartholomew’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.  “I saw you send him somewhere. I was right there at the table.  Don’t lie to me, Novak.”

 

Gabriel rocked back onto his heels and put his hands in the pockets of his suit.  “You’re right,” he admitted. “He was being inappropriate and I told him to leave.  He’s probably at home by now.”

 

Sam watched as Cas’ eyes darted up toward Gabriel for a split second.  In that moment, Sam knew that Gabriel was lying. He was covering for Dean.  That meant that Dean was still in the building. He might even be able to get word to Bobby outside. 

 

Glaring at Gabriel, Bartholomew seemed to be trying to read the assistant curator’s face.  “You’ve obviously seen that I don’t really require anyone to leave here alive,” Boyle gestured behind him at the body of Zachariah Adler.  “So, are you  _ certain _ that Dean Winchester is no longer here?”

 

“I sure as shit hope not,” Gabe smiled wolfishly.  He seemed completely unaffected at the sight of his supervisor’s cooling corpse.  “Look, Barty.” Boyle winced as Gabriel continued. “I told him to get his ass out the door.  I don’t know where he is. That’s the truth. I really don’t give a fuck if you believe me or not.”

 

Bartholomew stared at Gabriel for a full minute before he realized the shorter man wasn’t going to crack.  Finally he nodded and prodded Gabriel with his PMR-30. “You can go back to the wall now,” he ordered.

 

Gabriel turned to make his way back, but just as he reached the end of the stage, he turned and looked at Bartholomew.  He waved his hand toward Boyle’s gun and said, “Oh, and Barty?” Bartholomew glared at him. 

 

Gabriel gave him a smirk.  “That’s a coward’s gun. Doesn’t have much kickback, so it’s pretty obvious that the handler is an amateur who is afraid of their own shadow.”  He spun back around and walked to the wall, settling himself in a new place next to his brother. Boyle glared daggers at him, but didn’t do anything about the flippant comment.

 

Sam let a whoosh of air escape his lungs and cursed Gabriel for being such a snotty asshole.  Now was not the time to poke the hornet’s nest. “Jesus, Gabe,” he swore under his breath. Next to him, Jo was shaking, trying not to laugh.

 

“Well,” Charlie said.  “I can see why you like him.  His balls must be fucking  _ huge _ !”

 

Sam shot her a bitchface and looked down the row where Gabriel and Cas were whispering.  Cas leaned forward in a barely perceptible movement and Sam could see Gabriel’s hand snake around his brother’s back and lift up Cas’ tuxedo jacket.   _ ‘What the hell was that all about?’ _ Sam thought.

 

Gabriel and Cas then casually straightened, taking their former positions in the line.  Sam knew that  _ something _ had just happened, but he had no idea what it was.  He thought about the minor heart attack he had experienced while Gabe was standing so close to an armed psychopath.  Sam knew that now, he had to make sure that  _ both  _ of the Novak siblings got out of this in one piece.  So much for him and Gabe being ‘casual.’

 

Sam and his team were trained professionals.  And after his little display, it seemed that whatever Bobby had dug up on Gabe was legit.  He obviously knew what he was doing as well. Sam looked up at the stage where Bartholomew was conversing with one of his goons.  At this stage in the game, Bartholomew hadn’t shown his entire hand. Sam was betting that Boyle wasn’t as in control as he thought he was.  This whole situation  _ wasn’t _ going to be like a challenging game of chess, Sam thought.  It was most likely going to be more like playing a board game with a small child—the rules could change at any moment.

 

* * *

 

Tucking his phone into his pocket and palming his precious forty caliber Sig Sauer P226, Dean cracked open the door to Gabriel’s office; his gun at the ready.  He didn’t hear anything now. The hallway was dark, and seemed deserted. Opening the door farther, his gun preceded him as he stepped outside of the office. There was no movement in the shadows.

 

Dean felt as though he had been doused in icy water after Cas’ phone call.  He was stone-cold sober and his guard was up. He could see the light of the main entrance at the end of the hallway, but there didn’t appear to be anyone down there.

 

When he had first stumbled down this hall toward Gabe’s office in his escape from the party, Dean could hear the sounds of the party coming from the back room.  He didn’t hear anything now. The silence was overwhelming. His feet slid a little on the tile and he glanced down. He hadn’t put his fucking shoes back on. Dean had been so intent on getting to Cas that he hadn’t even thought about it.  Stupid. He wasn’t going back for them now. Besides, they hurt like a bitch. He’d be quieter in his socks anyway.

 

Approaching the museum’s main entrance lobby, Dean hugged the walls.  He peeked around the corner into the large room, pleased to see that it looked empty.  From this vantage point, he could see the doors to the dining area. They were shut tight.  He remembered them being open when he stormed out. He ducked back into the darkened staff hallway and fished around in his pocket for his phone.  He checked the screen and swore softly when he saw there still wasn’t any service.

 

Dean knew, logically, that if his team was here tonight, that they would have someone monitoring on the outside.  He was betting on Bobby Singer. Dean slipped back down the hall and made his way to Gabriel’s office as quickly and silently as he could.  He made sure he was still alone as he re-entered, closing and locking the heavy wooden door behind him.

 

He stalked across the room and sat down in Gabe’s chair.  The man’s laptop was sitting in the middle of the desk. It wasn’t plugged in and Dean sent up a quick prayer that it still held a charge.  He opened the computer and was relieved when it booted up. He clicked open the internet and punched his fist in the air when he confirmed that the WiFi signal was still working.  Whoever had been doing the shooting had jammed the cell signals, but they had overlooked the internet.

 

Typing in the address for Google Voice, Dean selected a new call.  The ‘Make a Call’ button came up and he clicked on it. He looked over at the door, realizing that he was on edge and feeling paranoid.  Nothing was there. Dean keyed in Bobby’s private cell phone number from memory and connected.

 

The ‘Hangout’ picked up and Dean almost cried when he heard Bobby’s voice on the other end.  “What do you want, Dean,” Bobby shouted. “I’m working here.”

 

“When was the last time Sammy checked in,” Dean snapped.

 

“Twenty or thirty minutes ago.  Why?” Bobby’s tone changed.

 

“I don’t know how long I’ve got before someone realizes I’m making this call,” Dean said in a hushed voice.  “We’ve got a fucking problem, Bobby. I think this just became a hostage situation. There were gunshots from the main room,” he said.  “I got a call from Cas. He told me there were at least three armed assailants.” Dean’s voice hitched at the memory.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Bobby breathed.  “Hostages, shit.”

 

Trying to stay as professional as possible, Dean continued.  “The call got cut off. I have no service, so they’re probably jamming the signals.”

 

“How the hell are you calling me?” Bobby asked.

 

“I was hiding out in Gabe’s office when I heard the shots.  Cas and I…we had a fight. I left.” Dean bit his lip and closed his eyes.  “Shit, Bobby,” he broke. “I fucking yelled at him and walked out. What if the last thing I said to Cas was something I didn’t mean?”

 

“Stop thinking like that,” Bobby told him.  “Snap out of it. As of now, you’re all I have on the inside.  I just tried raising Sam and the others. None of them are responding.  At this point, I’m assuming they’re all with the other hostages. How many people do you think are inside?”

 

Dean did some mental recaps of the evening.  “Counting out three guys with guns,” he said.  “I’m guessing at least a hundred.”

 

“And of course it’s all the richest and most influential people in the city, isn’t it?” Bobby groaned.

 

“Yup,” Dean confirmed.  “Pretty sure I saw Mayor Mills and Sheriff Hanscum earlier. A couple people I recognised from the society bullshit I used to go to with... _ him _ .”

 

“Balls!” Something crashed in the background on Bobby’s end.  “Okay. See if you can diffuse things. I’m connected with the local authorities and they confirmed they have a negotiator and a SWAT team on the way.  If things escalate, you're going to have to either find us a way in or cause a distraction big enough to draw their attention so we can move.”

 

“Distractions are my specialty,” he attempted a joke with his uncle.  “Keep this line open,” Dean said. “If I can, I’ll get back to Gabe’s office and connect with you again.”

 

“Take care of yourself, son,” Bobby’s voice was grave.

 

“I’m not worried about myself right now,” Dean said softly.

 

“I know,” Bobby said.  “But  _ I’m _ worried about you.  Don’t come back to me dead, you hear?”

 

“Do my best.”

 

There was a pause and Bobby said, “Kick it in the ass.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Dean with no shoes ala John McClane in Die Hard.
> 
> Also, I cried a bit when I wrote Bobby saying Kim’s saying of “Kick it in the ass.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tells a lie, Crowley lends a hand, and someone’s life will end...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING—violence and minor character death.

_ 8:18pm… _

 

The woman froze at his voice.  There was a pause before she said in a crisp British accent, “Good evening.”  The words were calculated and unconcerned. 

 

“Stand up,” Victor ordered again.  “Slowly. I  _ will _ shoot you.” 

 

She moved fluidly, rising in one graceful turn and faced him.  Her palms were toward him and hovering next to her cheekbones. Victor’s hand was steady as he aimed at her forehead.  “What are you doing down here?”

 

She smiled and clicked her tongue.  “No, no,” she said. “You’ll have to buy me dinner before you get any information out of me, officer.”

 

“It’s  _ Agent _ ,” Henrickson growled.  “This whole building is under surveillance by the Federal Bureau of Investigation tonight.”  He laughed coldly. “You picked a shit time to rob the place.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?  How many of your people are here?” Victor took two steps toward her.

 

The smile that graced her features was unexpected.  “Can’t hurt to tell you my name, I suppose,” she purred.  “You can call me Bela.”

 

Victor had to admit that he was a little taken off guard with her words.  Most criminals didn’t just come right out and answer your questions. Either it was a fake name, or she was going to make a move on him.  “All right,  _ Bela _ ,” he said, watching her carefully.  “I’m going to approach you. You  _ will  _ cooperate with me.  No sudden movements.  Got it?” She didn’t respond.  “I am placing you under arrest and—“

 

A loud crack sounded in the distance, coming through the walls and down the stairs.  The sound of gunfire from above registered in Victor’s mind. It was enough that he turned sharply toward it.  He took his eyes off of Bela for only a moment, but it was enough.

 

In the moment that Victor’s eyes left her, Bela shifted back on her right heel; bracing as she began to move.  The powerful kick landed before Victor turned back to her. Her shin connected with the agent’s wrist, breaking the grip on his gun.  The weapon clattered to the cement floor, skidding out of either of their reach.

 

Henrickson went down on one knee.  He glanced up just as Bela’s heeled shoe caught him underneath the jawbone.  The pointed toe box of her shoe dug into his flesh, drawing a thin trickle of blood.  He fell backwards, cracking his tailbone on the ground. Bela made a reckless dive for Victor’s fallen firearm.

 

He recovered quickly enough to launch himself toward her, landing hard on her chest and pinning her to the floor.  She had both arms above her head in her struggle, but she was still gripping the handle of the weapon. Henrickson tried to hold her down with one hand, reaching the other above them to grab her wrist.

 

Bela quickly reacted, twisting her restrained wrist toward the weak point of Victor’s thumb and slipping free.  She swiftly brought the butt of the gun down, smacking it into Victor’s forehead, stunning him. A trickle of blood ran down into one of his eyes.  Bela used his disorientation to shove him off of her.

 

Rolling, he collapsed on the floor beside her, clutching his lacerated scalp.  Bela rolled up on her right side, inches from Agent Henrickson. He watched through one eye as she levelled his own gun at him and pulled the trigger.

 

* * *

 

Sam’s muscles tensed.  He watched as the two armed men approached Bartholomew, one of them leaning up to say something to Boyle under his breath.  Sam figured that now was going to be his best shot. He placed his palm on Jo’s hip and pressed, causing her to move forward slightly.  She seemed to figure out what he was doing and adjusted so that he could slide along the wall behind her, effectively switching their places.

 

Sam knew that he was going to have to do something, and soon.  Time was running out. Dean and Victor were still out there, which gave him some comfort.  He felt his holstered gun dig into his side as he shifted on his feet. He was still pissed off that he hadn’t reacted fast enough to draw when all of this shit went down.  Bobby was going to ream him a new one—if Sam managed to get out of here alive.

 

He could see Gabe’s profile down the line.  There were only about seven or eight people between them.  Sam had an overwhelming desire to move down there just so he knew that Gabriel was close.  Shaking his head, Sam suppressed a snort. He had no business thinking that way. He couldn’t put the safety of someone he was personally connected to above any of the other hostages.  They were  _ all  _ his responsibility. 

 

“You’re both armed, right?” Sam hissed at Jo.

 

She gave him an annoyed look.  “Yeah,” she retorted. “Not that it does much good.”

 

“Why not?” Sam asked, his eyes not leaving Bartholomew.

 

“Our pieces don’t really fit in these tiny bags,” Jo shook a small clutch in her hands.

 

Sam looked down between them and realized that she was correct.  The purse that she was holding didn’t look like it would hold more than a pack of gum.  “Charlie?” Sam slid his eyes down to her.

 

Charlie shook her head glumly.  “I dropped my purse when I got up.  It’s somewhere under my stupid table, halfway across the damn room.”

 

“Shit,” Sam breathed.

 

“Sorry, boss,” Charlie sounded horrible.  “I guess everyone was right when they said I didn’t belong in the field.”

 

“Don’t think like that,” Sam said firmly.  “I’m glad you’re here.” He furrowed his brow.  “Well, not actually  _ here _ , you know.  This sucks. But I’m glad to have you by my side.  You know what I mean,” he turned away before he kept babbling.  “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to make my move.”

 

Charlie’s eyes went wide, but Jo’s mouth was set with determination.  “About time,” the short blonde said.

 

Slowly and deliberately, Sam reached into the jacket of his server’s uniform.  He was just about to take hold of his gun when someone near the front of the line shouted and he saw several people jump away from the wall.

 

Bartholomew and his goons turned toward the commotion, their weapons raised.  Sam’s opening was gone. He swore and used the advantage of his height to try and see what was going on.  A short brunette man, dressed impeccably, broke away from the other hostages and grabbed a half-full glass off of the nearest table.

 

“Oh, shit,” Charlie whispered as Bartholomew and his men moved toward the hostages closest to them.

 

Boyle levelled his gun at the man who had moved to the table.  The guy’s eyes were wide with terror and his whole body shaking.  Even from this distance, Sam could see the liquid moving in the glass the man held.  “What the hell is going on?” Boyle yelled.

 

“I’m sorry,” the man said in a soft voice.  He sounded as though he was going to wet himself.  “She fainted,” he pointed to the floor. Through the crowd of people, Sam could make out a pair of shoes and part of a shapely calf lying on the ground.  “I was just getting her some water,” the guy was saying. “I’m sorry, I—“

 

Bartholomew cut him off in a booming, frozen voice.  “I thought I made myself clear?” He looked at the armed men at his sides.  “I did, didn’t I?”

 

“Yeah, boss,” said the henchman who had killed the security guard.  The other man simply nodded once, completely silent.

 

Glaring at the hostages all down the line, Bartholomew spat, “I told you what would happen if anyone ruined my evening!”  He jerked his gun down and fired off a single shot. The bullet entered the brunette man’s knee and he collapsed, screaming, to the ground.  “It wasn’t an empty threat!”

 

People were screaming, a few of the hostages began to cry in earnest.  The wounded man was yelling the loudest. Before Sam could even think about what he was about to do, he calmly stepped out of line.  His hands were up, palms facing out, trying to convey that he was no threat. He moved a few people down the line so that he was now level with Castiel and Gabe.

 

“Were you not paying attention just now?” Bartholomew saw him and turned to Sam, pointing his weapon at the agent.

 

Sam glanced at Gabriel, who looked incredibly pissed off at him, and continued toward Boyle and his men.  “I’m a medical student,” he lied as he approached. He thanked everything in him that Dean had never got around to introducing him to Boyle during their relationship.  He was confident that the psycho wouldn’t recognize him from a few family photos after a decade.

His words were enough that the three armed people allowed Sam to get between them and the small man on the ground who was now bleeding profusely and clutching his leg.  Sam placed himself physically between Bartholomew and the other hostages. “You’re a waiter,” the man on Boyle’s right sneered.

 

“This is how I pay for medical school,” Sam continued.  “Not everyone can get a scholarship.” When you were in the thick of it and started to lie, sometimes you just had to go for it, because your life could very well depend on it.  One lie always bred more.

 

He took a small step closer to Bartholomew and lowered his voice, speaking directly to the leader of this fiasco.  “Look,” he said. “I just want to examine him and try to help.”  

 

Bartholomew didn’t respond and he also didn’t lower his gun from Sam’s chest.  “Seriously,” Sam tried again. “If this guy bleeds out then people are going to panic and you’ll lose any control over this situation that you already have.  People do some crazy shit when they think they’re going to die. I’m just trying to make sure that everyone who can, gets out of here alive.”

 

The word, ‘panic,’ seemed to spur something behind Bartholmew’s dead eyes.  “Fine,” he said, slightly lowering his aim. “Far be it for me to cause a  _ panic _ .  But don’t try anything, or I’ll put two in the back of your head,  _ ‘Doctor.’ _ ”

 

Sam gave him a short nod and quickly knelt down at the injured man’s side.  “Hi,” he said. The man looked at him as though he was insane. “What’s your name?” Sam asked as he began to pull on the frayed pant leg of the man’s suit where the bullet had entered.

 

“Um, Chuck?” the guy said.  His voice was small, but the tracts of tears on his cheeks were starting to dry.

 

“Okay, Chuck,” Sam said.  “This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.”  He ripped the pants, jostling Chuck’s leg which caused him to yelp.  “Hey,” Sam turned and glanced over his shoulder at Boyle. “I need to get that woman off the floor.”

 

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes and paused before he nodded once.  “Fine.”

 

Sam pointed to two nervous looking men standing near the woman who had fainted.  “You two,” his voice was full of authority. “Go get a chair from the nearest table and lift her into it.  I’ll come check on her in a moment.” Sam was acutely aware that Bartholomew and his men were watching and listening to everything.  The two guys stared at him, but didn’t move. “Go get a chair!” Sam yelled at them.

 

They looked up at Boyle who gestured with his weapon and said, “Be my guest.”  One of the men gagged a little, but they both finally did what Sam had requested.  Once they were busy picking the unconscious woman off of the floor, Sam looked up at the closest person to him and met the eyes of Fergus Crowley.  “You,” he said to Crowley. “Help me out here.”

 

Crowley didn’t hesitate.  He knelt down near Chuck’s head and looked to Sam for instructions.  Sam had to admit, the guy was cool under pressure. “Get his tie off,” Sam told Crowley.  The man began to work at the knot at Chuck’s neck while Sam re-examined the entry wound. He was pretty sure Chuck’s kneecap was shattered, which would require surgery.  “Is she your wife?” Sam asked, trying to distract his ‘patient.’ “The woman who fainted?”

 

“Yes,” Chuck ground out.  “Becky. Is she okay?”

 

Sam tried to smile at him.  “I’m going to check on her as soon as I’ve taken care of you, okay?”

Chuck closed his eyes and slumped a little.  Crowley finally managed to remove the man’s tie and handed it to Sam without a word.  Sam busied himself securing the necktie around Chuck’s lower thigh, using it as a makeshift tourniquet.  Chuck’s eyes were still shut and his breathing was slowing, which Sam didn’t like.

 

Suddenly, there was a loud crash that sounded like breaking glass from outside the doors, coming from the main lobby.  Everyone turned toward the disruption, including Boyle and his men. Crowley took the opportunity to tug on Sam’s sleeve, catching the agent’s attention.  Sam watched as Crowley discreetly reached into his trouser pocket and palmed a serrated steak knife in his hand. “I managed to grab this before we were herded over here,” the British man said lowly.

 

“That’s what you were doing,” Sam confirmed.

 

“You were watching me?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

 

Nodding, Sam said, “I was.  Saw you put something in your lap but I couldn’t tell what it was.”  Deciding in the moment that he could trust Fergus, Sam checked that they still had some privacy.  Bartholomew was shouting at his men, asking what had happened in the lobby, as if they would know.  He pulled the lapel of his uniform jacket back and flashed his holstered gun at Crowley for a split second.  The other man’s eyes widened slightly, but he honestly didn’t seem very surprised. “I’m a Fed,” Sam whispered.  “There are three of us in the room, two others somewhere in the building and a man outside.”

 

Crowley nodded and his eyes darted up in a warning just before a shadow fell over them.  “Everything all right here, gentlemen?” Bartholomew’s voice was smooth and condescending.

 

“Yeah,” Sam glanced up, confident that their exchange hadn’t been witnessed.  Crowley’s knife had disappeared and he looked to be the picture of innocence. “I’m going to check on the lady now.”  He stood up and stared down at Bartholomew for a moment. It took all of his self-control to not simply punch the guy and risk a bullet.  “Keep an eye on him,” Sam told Crowley. “Let me know if the bleeding seems to lessen.”

 

He shot one last look at Boyle before turning away and beginning to attend to Chuck’s wife, Becky, who was just coming around.  Sam checked her pulse and hoped that Dean or Victor had gotten through to Bobby. They needed help. There were too many variable factors going on now, and Bartholomew had made it very clear that he wasn’t going to suffer fools.   _ ‘Happy Fucking New Year,’  _ Sam thought.    

* * *

 

On his feet once more, Dean left the security of Gabriel’s office, once again abandoning his shoes.  He used Gabe’s keys to lock up behind him so that no one could stumble across the open phone line he had with Bobby.  Dean moved down the dark staff hallway silently, his gun raised. 

 

He plastered himself to the wall at the end and double checked that the main lobby was still empty.  There was no obvious movement. Dean was extra cautious, checking the shadowy alcoves across the great room for any sign of life.  The double doors to the main event room were still shut. He was going to need to find a way inside.

 

Sliding around the corner, he used one of the sculpture displays to keep most of his center mass covered as he entered the open area.  Glancing to his right, Dean could see the floor to ceiling windows of the front of the museum. The moon was shining through, partially hidden by the angle of the roof.

 

Dean inched his way down the wall, trying to keep himself covered from at least one vantage point.  He kept glancing behind him at the closed door where he knew everyone was being kept. It was agonizingly slow, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down.  Dean reached the front doors and checked behind him once more. He was still blessedly alone. Lowering his gun slightly so it was at the level of his hip, he grasped the handle of the entrance and yanked hard on the door. 

 

It was stuck tight.  Locked up. Looking down, he could tell that the locking mechanism was some sort of electronic system.  Whoever was behind the events of tonight had found a way to override the buildings external security, effectively cutting them off from the outside world.

Dean swore.  He gripped his piece again, raising it up.  No phones, locked doors, apparently everyone on his team locked up as hostages—this was turning into an  _ awesome  _ New Year’s Eve.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered as he moved back to the relative safety of the wall.  If he leaned at just the right angle from his current position, he could see a government-issue van parked down the street.  Bobby was close, but he wasn’t going to be much help if he couldn’t get the other emergency responders into the building.

 

Glancing to the left, Dean did a double-take at the mounted glass enclosure next to him.  He reached up and fingered the latch on the case holding the fire extinguisher and hose. It was locked.  “What the fuck?” he cursed. “How is this supposed to help during a fire if you can’t open it?” He placed his palm on the smooth glass and gnawed on his lip.  “This is against fucking regulations,” he bitched as he decided what to do.

 

There was only one choice, and he  _ really  _ didn’t want to make it.  The rapport of a gunshot made up Dean’s mind for him.  It was time to do what he did best and distract the fuck out of the assholes running the show.  Dean needed to do something--anything--to get Bobby and the rest of the law enforcement back up into the museum, and it had to be  _ quick _ !  He raised the butt of his gun and smashed it hard against the glass, cracking it.  The sound echoed in the empty lobby and Dean knew someone should be coming to investigate soon enough.  There was no way that nobody had noticed how loud that sound had been. He fished his hand through the shattered glass and pulled out the fire extinguisher.  He was pretty sure that he only had seconds before someone arrived, and Dean wasn’t planning on wasting any time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry. I love Henrickson, and I’m so sorry.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby gets some backup, Sam stands his ground, and Dean makes a move...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: More violence and death. Just FYI.

_ 8:31pm… _

 

It took less than seven minutes for the police SWAT teams to arrive and begin setting up after Bobby Singer had called them, using the full pull of the FBI.  The ranking officer, a tall red-headed woman who looked as though she ate puppies for breakfast sauntered over to Bobby with a grim look. “Abbadon Sands,” she held out her hand.  “I understand there may be a need for a negotiator?”

 

“As of this point, I don’t know,” Bobby admitted.  “I have five people on the inside, but I’m unaware of their status at this time.  One of them got through to me earlier with a computer connection but I’ve lost it since then.”

 

“Do we know how many hostiles and how many hostages there are?”

 

“Nothing definite.”

 

Abbadon groaned and closed her eyes.  “This isn’t looking good. How did these people get the jump on your guys?”

 

“We weren’t expecting a situation of this magnitude,” Bobby grumbled.  “We were in attendance to keep an eye on a person of interest.”

 

“And who is that?”

 

“Bartholomew Boyle.”

 

The red-headed negotiator whistled lowly.  “He’s not someone you just go after without cause.”

 

“No.”  Bobby looked at her hard.  “We have plenty of cause. Not limited to trying to infiltrate the FBI.”

 

“Okay,” she nodded.  She gestured to a man standing behind her and he began to bark orders into his radio to the other members of his team.  “First we have to open up communication and then we have to find a way inside.”

 

“Good luck with that,” Bobby snarked.  “If you have no objections, I’m going to keep trying to raise my own team who are already inside.”

 

“And outnumbered.”

 

“We don’t know that.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Abbadon said, turning and walking away.  Bobby watched her go and internally seethed. He had to hold out hope that Dean got back in touch with him, or at least found a way for him to get into the building.  Bobby was determined to get his team back in one piece, no matter what it cost him.

 

* * *

 

Sam had been moving back and forth between Becky, (who was finally coming around), and her husband Chuck, whose labored breathing was really starting to make Sam nervous.  Crowley was still kneeling down at Chuck’s side, trying to keep the man conscious. A few more of the hostages had stepped forward asking for Sam’s assistance for raised pulses and other non-critical issues.  Bartholomew seemed fine to let it continue—for now.

 

He knew that his luck had finally run out when Boyle snorted and lifted his gun once more.  The one henchman, Virgil, had been sent out to the lobby to investigate the crash, but the other was keeping close to his boss.  Bartholomew looked edgy and Sam didn’t like it. He gestured at the agent with his weapon. “You seem to be taking an awfully long time to deal with a flesh wound,” Boyle sneered.

 

Sam moved to stand in front of him, putting himself bodily between Boyle and the other hostages.  “It’s not a flesh wound,” he ground out. “The man has a shattered kneecap and needs to be transported to a hospital.  Immediately.”

 

“That’s not going to happen,” Boyle smiled coldly.  “I’m on a schedule here.” The man next to him chuckled darkly and Sam glared at them both.  “Hurry up with whatever you’re doing and get back against the wall.”

 

“No,” Sam stood his ground.  He heard a few people behind him suck in their breath.  “He needs medical attention and I’m not going to just walk away from that.”

 

Bartholomew sighed in amusement.  “Since you seem so unconcerned with your own safety, let's up the ante, shall we?”  He pointed his gun around Sam and into the crowd. “You. Miss. Hot red-head.” Sam spun and saw that Boyle was speaking to Charlie.  His eyes flashed and he watched as Charlie tried to disappear into the wall. “Will you please join us for a moment?”

 

Sam gave a small nod that no one but Charlie and Jo seemed to notice.  Charlie bit her lip and moved toward them slowly. She looked terrified and uncertain.  Sam didn’t blame her one bit. He had no idea what Boyle was going to do. Charlie reached them and stood slightly behind Sam.  Bartholomew smiled at her and reached out, grabbing her arm tightly. He yanked her to his side and looked back up at Sam. “I’ll just have this lovely young woman keep me company while you finish up.  If you take too long—I’ll shoot her between the eyes. Do we understand?”

 

“I understand,” Sam said in a clipped tone. 

 

He glanced at Charlie for a split second before turning and heading back to Chuck, who was still lying on the floor.  He had to find a way to get them all out of this and he knew that he was running out of options.

 

* * *

 

Dean had ducked into a small alcove that at least provided the cover of a few shadows.  It was the best he was going to get at this point. When the door to the main room opened and a scowling man stepped out into the lobby, Dean wasn’t surprised in the least.  He shook his head as the newcomer glanced around, but failed to raise his gun. The door clicked shut behind him and Dean hoped that this was the only person who had been sent to investigate the noise.  He would have no trouble with one guy who didn’t even know how to properly clear a room.

 

It took the man a few moments to notice the broken glass from the fire extinguisher’s case scattered on the floor.  Dean watched as the man moved toward the mess, his gun slightly raised, but in no way ready for an attack. Amateur.  He waited until the man passed the alcove he was hidden in and quietly stepped out behind him once he passed by. He had his gun trained on the man’s back as he said, “Freeze.”

 

The guy stilled and he turned, raising his gun in a swift, inhuman motion.  Dean fired off a shot, but it only grazed the man’s shoulder before his right wrist was being hit with the force of a mac truck.  The man had swung out and smacked the butt of his gun into the bones of Dean’s arm sending reverberations down his body. It didn’t take him long to recover and he managed to keep a grip on his weapon.  Unfortunately, the other guy was now aiming right at Dean’s head.

 

They faced off, and Dean was hoping that no one else came after hearing the crack of a gunshot.  He’d prefer to settle this alone. “What’s your name?” Dean asked after a beat.

 

“Virgil,” the man said in a low voice.

 

“Okay, Virgil,” Dean smiled.  “I’m a federal agent and I’m going to take you into custody.  If you shoot me, you’ll get the death penalty, so don’t do that.  Just lower your weapon and make this easier on yourself.”

 

“You’re a fool,” Virgil told him.  “This is about more money that you can possibly imagine.  You won’t take me alive.”

 

“I was afraid of that,” Dean smirked.  “In that case, I’m happy to slap the cuffs onto your corpse.  I won’t lose any sleep over that.”

 

“I doubt you would,” Virgil agreed.  “However I have absolutely no qualms about killing you either.  It appears we are at a stand-still.”

 

Dean shrugged, unconcerned.  “So this is about money? You’re thieves?”

 

“We are here to acquire a very rare and ancient tablet for a buyer who will pay us handsomely.  I’m sure our person is already in the vault at this moment.” 

 

“You’re so sure of that?”

 

“Absolutely.”  Virgil fixed Dean with a glare.  “Enough chatter. Lower your weapon or I will be forced to kill you.”

 

“I’d like to see you try,” Dean challenged. 

 

They both spun as a loud voice blared from outside of the building, filtered through a megaphone.  “This is the police! If you do not contact us within fifteen minutes, we will be forced to breach this location!”

 

It was enough of a distraction that Virgil aimed and pulled the trigger on his gun.  It stuck and nothing happened. Dean glanced up just as Virgil tossed his gun aside and launched himself toward him.  Dean fired off a shot but it went wide and Virgil leapt onto him. They crashed to the floor, grappling with one another and Dean’s gun skittered from his hands.  He swore and swung his elbow into Virgil’s face. There was a satisfying crunch as the other man’s nose shattered.

 

Virgil recovered quickly and landed two heavy punches to Dean’s ribs.  The agent grunted and used his weight to push the other man off of him.  They flew apart, their hands seeking out their physical injuries. At a single glance, they both clamored to their feet, facing one another, weaponless.

 

Dean watched as Virgil wiped some blood from his mouth with the back of his hand as they circled each other.  They were close, but not close enough to land a hit without getting into trouble themselves. Neither man seemed inclined to get into the strike zone, so they just moved, watching for a moment.

 

Suddenly, Virgil was in his face, swinging out and clipping Dean on the shoulder.  The agent stumbled back a little but recovered and his own fists flew out, connecting with the other man’s jaw.  Virgil’s head snapped back and Dean struck again. He was pounding his fists into Virgil’s face, uncaring at the blood spattering them both.

 

Virgil was weakening from the continuous blows.  He dropped to one knee and Dean refused to let up.  He kept pummeling his fist into the other man’s face, which was becoming unrecognizable as human with each hit.  Dean landed a perfectly placed hit and Virgil fell backwards, crashing to the ground. The sound of his skull hitting the marble floor echoed sickeningly in the room and Dean finally stopped.  He looked down at the motionless form below him and stood, braced for another attack. It never came.

 

A pool of thick, viscous blood began to seep away from Virgil’s head, staining the white stone of the museum’s floor.  Dean watched as it spread. It was too much blood for Virgil to be coming back from that. He’d obviously fractured his skull with enough force to cause instant death.

Dean stared at the blood for a full minute before he reached down and retrieved his gun.  He tucked it into the band of his suit pants and then walked over to pick up Virgil’s fallen weapon.  He looked down at the piece to see why it had jammed when the other man had attempted to fire on him. The dumb son-of-a-bitch had left the safety on.  Dean shook his head in amazement at the villain’s stupidity. He pocketed that weapon as well. He glanced back at the corpse on the floor, the blood still flowing.  

 

Dean felt nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after what seems like FOREVER, (I originally started writing this fic for Nanowrimo 2018), this bad boy is finally finished. I'm going through and doing some editing and whatnot, but hopefully the rest of this fic will be posted by either tonight or tomorrow. So yay!! It feels good to finally get back to this one after so long. I hit a point where I knew what was going to happen, but I didn't want to write it, so I sort of tucked this fic into the back of my docs and pretended that it wasn't there. Denial. It's awesome. Anywho--this is complete as of 03/28/2020.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things always get worse before they get better...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and minor character death.

Between himself and Crowley, Sam managed to dead-lift Chuck into a chair, stretching the man’s wounded leg out onto another seat.  Chuck’s eyes were fluttering rapidly now and Sam knew that they had to get him some real medical attention as soon as possible. His wife, Becky, was now fully aware once more and showing signs of panic at her husband’s condition which was making everyone around them incredibly nervous.

 

The British man looked up at Sam with worry in his eyes.  “The bleeding isn’t slowing very much,” he commented softly.

 

“I know,” Sam fixed him with a look.  They both started, along with everyone else in the room as the distinct sound of a gunshot echoed from the lobby.  Sam didn’t want to think about what that meant. He sent up a silent prayer that Dean and Victor were all right.     

Crowley glanced around Sam at Charlie who was still being held at gunpoint by Boyle.  “That girl,” he said quietly. “Celeste. I met her earlier. Is she one of yours?”

 

Sam looked back at his friend, whose mouth was set in a thin line.  “Yeah, she is.”

 

“Pity.”  Crowley looked up at Sam.  “We have to do what that psycho says or he  _ will _ kill her.  I can see it in his eyes.”

 

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Sam’s voice was grim.

 

“Neither will I,” Crowley agreed, surprising him.  “Who else is yours?”

 

Sam slid his eyes behind them to Jo who was standing against the wall and shooting daggers at Bartholomew with her eyes.  “The blonde in the black dress who looks like she might catch on fire,” he whispered.

 

Crowley did a discrete look and nodded.  “I’ll watch for her as well.”

 

“Thanks,” Sam said to him.  “Don’t go playing the hero though,” he warned.

 

“Darling,” Crowley fixed him with an enigmatic look.  “I may be a lot of things, but I’m never a hero.”

 

Sam wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he stayed quiet.  Another shot rang out from the anteroom and he glanced over at the door with concern.  He was about to move back toward the wall so that Boyle would release Charlie when the man himself spoke up.  “Gordon,” Bartholomew addressed the other man with him. “Go see what’s taking Virgil so long. He may need some help.”

 

Filing away the name ‘Gordon’ for his report once they were out of this, Sam shot Charlie a look and stepped back toward the rest of the hostages.  “You sure that you’ll be fine alone, boss?” Gordon asked.

 

“Don’t question me,” Bartholomew snapped viciously.  “You’re here to do as you’re told--so do it!”

 

Without a backward glance, Gordon turned and stalked from the room, leaving Boyle alone with the hostages.  Sam glared at his brother’s psychotic ex. The man was still training his gun on Charlie--if he hadn’t been, Sam would have taken the chance and went for the man.  As it was, he refused to risk his friend’s life. He made subtle eye contact with Charlie, relieved when she nodded that despite her situation, she was handling it as best as she could.  

 

People in the Bureau tended to underestimate the red-headed hacker.  They thought that she was a glorified IT worker bee. In actuality, Sam had seen her perform flawlessly under immense pressure, both online and in strained situations such as this.  Charlie was a good person to have on your side. And if she wasn’t comfortable with what she was dealing with, she would damn sure let someone know about it.

 

He watched as Charlie tensed.

 

* * *

 

Bobby Singer may have been behind a desk, and overseeing most operations from that position, for almost a decade, but for him, field work was like riding a bicycle.  He was well-trained, experienced, and he had little, to no, mercy. Not after what happened in Omaha with his former partner, Rufus, back when Bobby was still wet behind the ears.  Nothing would ever slip by his notice like that again.  

 

Three members of the SWAT team were backing him up, on loan from Abaddon Sands herself.  Bobby had explained that according to Gabriel’s interviews, there was a fire exit that opened into one of the lower hallways.  Most people assumed it was out of commission, and it was never used. Gabe had mentioned that it was still on a silent alarm, but was usually unlocked due to his boss’ habit of sneaking extra smoke breaks during work.

 

The four of them had moved around the back of the museum through a dark alley, and emerged near the door they were in search of.  It was partially hidden by a large amount of overgrown shrubs and some creeping vines on the side of the stone building. There were also an obscene amount of cigarette butts littering the ground around the doorway.  

 

Bobby had insisted on going in first, the others only providing backup if necessary.  This was still his show, and the FBI had jurisdiction. He leveled his gun and reached for the door handle.  Unsurprisingly, it was unlocked. Bobby shook his head as they silently entered the museum.  _ ‘So much for decent security,’ _ he thought.  From their dealings with the facility for this mission, Bobby Singer was less than impressed with the way that things were handled in regards to securing the building and it’s wares--people included.

 

The door opened onto a narrow, dimly lit hall that seemed to be entirely dark grey concrete.  Bobby gestured for one of the SWAT officers to move up and help him secure their entrance. In unison, he and the other man stepped through the door and made sure that they were alone.  When the coast was clear, the other two joined them. Using coded hand signals, Bobby instructed two of the officers to take the left, while he and the remaining one took the right. They split up, and Bobby had a vague recollection of mindless teens breaking their groups apart in those ridiculous slasher films that Dean loved to watch.  He hoped that their luck would be better.

 

The officer with him, a young man named Max, who had been highly recommended by Ms. Sands, moved ahead and nodded toward the corner in front of them.  Bobby dipped his head in response, giving the order to move. The two of them rounded the bend into another seemingly empty hall. Just as they were about to take a step, Bobby heard it.  The small chirp of something electronic in front of them. Someone else was down here.

 

Max had heard it too, and both men froze and made eye contact.  Bobby motioned toward the sound and Max wordlessly fell into step with the Director.  They made hardly a sound as they moved forward to the next turn in the corridor. The beeping sounded once more.  Whoever was there, seemed to have no idea that they were about to be very fucking surprised.

 

* * *

 

Crouching out of sight behind a rather large statue of a naked dude, Dean took stock of his situation.  He now had two firearms, but what sort of defense was that against the men inside the Event Hall? He needed to get in there, but he was at a loss as to how to accomplish that feat.

 

He was about to make his move when the doors creaked open and a large man came into the foyer, gun first. Dean pressed himself to the wall, trying to remain as still as possible behind the statue. The new bad guy was much more competent than Virgil had been and was clearing the room before he entirely exposed himself.  He’d clearly had some sort of training, which made Dean’s stomach roil. He would never understand how someone could go from law enforcement or military service to full blown criminal. 

 

Holding his breath, and sending up a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening, Dean hoped that the other man wouldn’t notice him.  As the man came out from the majority of his cover, striding to Virgil’s fallen form, Dean realized that he was too far away to attempt an assault. Not that he couldn’t, just that the element of surprise would be lost and the chances of getting his own ass blown off was a bit too high for his liking. 

 

The newcomer lowered his gun as he stared down at Virgil. He kicked at the clearly dead body and grunted.  “What the fuck?” Dean heard him mutter.

 

The gun was raised up once more and the man’s eyes tracked around the large space, clearly looking for whoever was out there.  Dean froze as completely as possible. He didn’t even dare inhale, or blink, knowing that the slightest twitch could give him away. 

 

Several times, the gunman’s eyes slid over him, but they never even paused. It seemed like years before the man moved silently back toward the ballroom, alert and ready to defend himself. Dean knew that this guy was going to be a hell of a lot more difficult to take down. But he could very well be Dean’s ticket into the ballroom. He was just going to have to play his cards right and hope that his luck held out just a little longer. 

 

The man turned and briskly moved to the ballroom entrance. Once he was no longer watching behind him, Dean pushed off the wall and followed. 

 

* * *

 

The whir and chirp of something electronic sounded again and Bobby locked eyes across the hallway with Max. The younger man nodded, prepared to follow Bobby around the corner and cover him.  It felt as though they were moving through quicksand, slow and hindered, as both men swung around into the next hallway. 

 

Roughly fifteen feet away, a figure crouched on the ground. Female. Her elegant updo was half pulled out, and her long, elegant gown was hiked up to her thighs as she worked. Behind her, Bobby saw the body of his friend, Victor, lying sightless...dead. He swallowed bile and pushed his instinctive sorrow and rage down as quickly as it bubbled to the surface. Now was not the time for mourning; or revenge. Bobby Singer was a professional, and he was going to do his job to the letter.  The breakdown would come later with lots of whiskey and the sick, twisted thoughts of someone living with survivor’s guilt. 

 

He could see that the woman was attempting to open one of the museum’s larger vaults. He had no idea what she was after inside, but there was no way in hell that she would succeed.  The small machine in her hand beeped once again and Bobby knew it was time to end this. “Hands up,” he said with authority. 

 

The woman froze, but she didn’t turn. He heard her deep, throaty laugh before she said, “Oh, I don’t think so, darling.”

 

In the blink of an eye she had spun and stood in one flowing, elegant movement.  The gun in her hand visible as her arm swung around to aim. Stupid. If he’d had more time to react, he might have rolled his eyes and given her a lecture on being fatally moronic. Luckily for her, Bobby wasn’t aiming to kill. Not yet anyway. 

 

The loud rapport of two gunshots echoed in the cement hallway, as Bobby and Max fired simultaneously. Her eyes bugged out and she crumpled to the floor as one bullet shattered her kneecap, while the other made its home deep in her shoulder.  

 

As she lay screaming on the ground, next to Victor’s body, both men approached her, weapons at the ready. Bobby stood over her and took in the familiar face. He’d seen it enough on the Interpol watchlists and the occasional surveillance photo. Bela Fucking Talbot. He wished he was surprised. Apparently their info and Bobby’s hunch had been spot on.

 

As Max kept his gun on Bela as Bobby took a moment to look down at Victor. He knelt to the ground and closed his friend’s eyes, shoving down his own emotions. His palm came away sticky with blood.  When Bobby straightened, he glared down at Bela writhing and bleeding on the floor. “Victor Henrickson was a good man—a better human than you’ll ever be. I’m going to do my damndest to make sure that you never see the light of day again, Miss Talbot.”

 

“Good luck with that,” she spat, curled up and clutching her wounds. 

 

Bobby went for his cuffs and reached down to secure her.  When she shrieked in pain and cussed him out for moving her injured arm, Bobby smiled grimly. Using a bit more force than necessary, he jerked her arm back, forcing the bullet wound in her shoulder to twist, bringing forth a fresh trickle of blood. As he secured her wrists behind her back and hauled her to her feet, Bobby leaned in and whispered in her ear.  “I got no motivation to make sure you walk out of this building,” he said. “Don’t tempt me.”

 

The threat managed to finally shut her up, for which Singer was grateful.  Nothing would ever make up for the loss of Agent Henrickson, but threatening the bitch who’d killed him made Bobby Singer feel a little better.

 

* * *

 

The tension in the ballroom was at a breaking point and Sam knew that something was going to have to be done, and soon, if they wanted to avoid more bloodshed. His first priority at the moment was getting Charlie away from Boyle, though he had no idea how he was going to accomplish that. Short of just rushing the guy, which would be suicide, Sam didn’t have many options.  

 

Bartholomew was stalking back and forth in front of the hostages, pulling Charlie along with him by her bicep. Her face morphed between terror and fury as she was manhandled by the pompous psychopath.  “I shouldn’t be surprised, really,” Bartholomew was saying to Charlie. “You can’t find decent help these days, everyone’s too greedy.” He changed directions abruptly, but stopped short and turned to her. “What’s your name?”

 

“Um, Celeste,” Charlie managed. 

 

“Celeste,” Boyle said, resuming his pacing. “People always want to take advantage of you.  Like Adler,” Boyle casually waved his gun toward the fallen corpse of Zachariah. “He wouldn’t just take what was offered—no.  Always asking for more. More money, more time. I couldn’t trust him, so he had to go. You understand,” he nodded at her. 

 

For her part, Charlie was nodding along with him and trying to keep him calm. The more the Bartholomew spoke, the more agitated he seemed to become. “That’s a good strategy I guess,” Charlie tried. 

 

Sam hoped that she managed to distract her captor long enough for Sam to make a move.  He gave whispered instructions to Crowley that he needed to keep pressure on Chuck’s leg, but to also keep an eye out.  Standing up, Sam slid away from the rest of the group, trying to inch toward Bartholomew and Charlie a dozen feet away. 

 

“I did the same thing on one of my Moondor campaigns,” Charlie was saying. “I was working with this Shadow Orc but he was totally going behind my back to the Kingdom of Seven and I couldn’t let him do that,  _ obviously. _ ”

 

“Celeste,” Boyle interrupted. 

 

“So I got a meeting with one of the knights of the Sevens who was looking to change sides,” Charlie continued. “Little did I know that she was a regulation hottie under that chain mail.”

 

Sam froze when Boyle jerked Charlie’s arm and hissed, “Shut up,” effectively silencing her. 

 

“Okay,” Charlie whispered. “Sorry.”

 

Using the hand holding his gun, Boyle managed to rest the grip against his forehead while massaging the bridge of his nose. “This is by far the worst case scenario,” he groused. “I thought of everything and  _ still  _ this is not going my way.”

 

Bartholomew was now angled away from Sam, which gave him a bit of an advantage. It was now or never—he was going for it.  Sam took exactly one step before all hell broke loose. 

 

Hostages scattered with shouts, pressing against the walls and dropping to the floor. From the crowd, Sam watched in horror as Jo moved out into the open, bringing her gun level with Boyle. Before she had a shot, however, another rapport echoed throughout the room.  

 

The gunshot came from the direction of the hostages. 

 

Jo’s eyes bugged out comically, her lips dropping open in shock.  Sam was facing her, and he could see the torn flesh of the gaping exit wound in her chest.  Fine splatters of blood exploded into the air, hitting a few bystanders with the fluid. Over her shoulder, Sam’s eyes locked onto a man who was quite literally holding the smoking gun.

 

There was a rattling gasp that ended in a dismal gurgle that drew Sam’s attention back to his friend and coworker.  _ Jo _ — _ No! _ For a moment, Jo was still, frozen in place.  Without warning, she dropped, crumpling to the floor like a marionette with severed strings.  Thick, too bright blood spread out from beneath her form, staining the floor crimson.  

 

Sam heard Charlie screaming Jo’s name, but nothing escaped his lips.  He forced himself to drag his eyes away from Jo’s now still body to focus on the shooter.  A thousand scenarios flew through Sam’s mind as he looked at the twisted smile on the gunman’s face as he lowered his weapon.

 

It was the last person that Sam had expected to play their hand—none other than Richard Roman, Esquire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!!
> 
> *ducks and runs away*


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Hell Has Broken Loose...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Violence

“I’m beginning to think that  _ nobody _ fucking listens to what I say!” Bartholomew screamed.  He had whirled on Dick Roman the second he had realized what was going on.  Despite the fact that Roman had obviously saved his life, Boyle was livid. “I told you to keep your head down!  Now everyone is going to know that you’re with us!”

 

“I’m not a child, Boyle,” Roman said calmly.  “I’m well aware of my actions and I have a contingency plan in place.  Calm down.”

 

“I don’t like surprises,  _ Dick _ .”

 

“And I don’t like failure,” came the response. 

 

Sam looked up at the two men from where he was kneeling next to Jo.  As soon as he’d had the chance, Sam had rushed to his friend. He was certain the only reason he wasn’t sporting a matching bullet wound was because of his medical student cover.  Boyle and Roman simply assumed he was doing his due diligence as a physician. 

 

The lump in his throat forced him to swallow thickly as he took his hands away from the pulse point at her jugular. He did his best to keep the tears from welling up in his eyes as he looked up at Charlie and said, “She’s dead.”

 

The reactions of the hostages were vocal and full of horror. Sam knew that they were all wondering who was going to be the next victim.  Brushing his hand over her face, Sam closed Jo’s eyes for the last time. He felt sick, and his heart was pounding erratically. He knew full well that he needed to get his emotions under his control before he did something incredibly stupid...or suicidal.

 

“If she’s dead,” Roman drawled, “then you don’t need to be wasting your time.  Get back with the others.”

 

Next to him, Bartholomew looked put out. “I’m still in charge here, Dick.”

 

“For the moment,” Roman smiled coolly. 

 

Unwilling to risk anyone else, Sam stood stiffly and moved back to the group of captives, now huddling together in terror. He could see the tears flowing down Charlie’s cheeks and he aches to comfort her. Hell, for that matter, he wanted someone to comfort  _ him _ .  The thought had Sam unconsciously glancing down the row to where Gabriel and Cas were positioned. Gabe’s amber eyes locked into his and Sam could almost hear the silent question as to his well being. Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, Sam looked away, not wanting to see the pity in Gabriel’s eyes. What he wouldn’t give to run to the other man, sink into his arms and just let Gabe hold him. Later, perhaps—if any of them got out of this alive. 

 

Sam felt sick. This op had gone horribly from start to finish and now one of the people he considered family was lying dead on the ground.  He wanted to vomit. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ .

 

The only sound that Sam could register was Charlie, brokenly sobbing over the loss of Jo.  The helplessness of their situation washed over him and Sam knew what he was going to do. He had to take Boyle down—by any means necessary. If he lost his life in the process, so be it. 

 

He had just gathered himself to move into a better position for an attack when the ballroom doors slammed roughly open, cracking against the wall.  Everyone in attendance spun in unison, a few cries of fear echoing throughout the room as they turned to the sound. 

 

“Gordon?” Boyle said, looking nervous.  “What’s the matter?”

 

Standing there, framed in the doorway, was a wild-eyed Gordon, brandishing his gun and shouting, “Virgil’s fucking dead.  I think there’s someone out here.”

 

* * *

 

The two officers who had entered the museum with him had come running at the sound of the shots. Bobby passed custody of Bela Talbot off to one of them and instructed the man to take her straight to Abaddon.  

 

“Shouldn’t she go to an ambulance first for triage?” The young man questioned. 

 

“If it were up to me, I’d put a bullet in her skull and leave her on the side of the road,” Bobby said, ignoring the widening of the officer’s eyes. “So take her to Abaddon and have  _ her  _ decide if Miss Talbot needs to be treated.”

 

“You bloody  _ shot  _ me,” Bela snapped. “Of  _ course  _ I need medical attention.”

 

“If you keep on yammering, I can make it so you won’t require the hospital,” Bobby glared at the woman who’d murdered his friend. “You can catch the express train straight to the morgue.”  Bela immediately paled and slammed her mouth closed. “That’s better,” Bobby said. Turning once again to the other man he repeated his instructions to have Bela remanded to Abaddon.

 

Once the thief was on her way into full custody, Bobby looked at Max and the other man standing at attention.  “All right,” Bobby sighed. “Obviously this is much more serious than I had anticipated. We need to get upstairs and into that ballroom ASAP.”

 

“Ready when you are, Sir,” Max said. His counterpart nodded once in the affirmative. 

 

“Okay,” Bobby sighed. He looked down and gave another glance to the body of Agent Henrickson.  “I’ll be back to make sure you’re taken care of, Victor,” he said. “That’s a promise.”

 

With that, Director Robert Singer hefted his weapon and motioned for the two SWAT members to follow him. It was time that they finished this, once and for all.

 

* * *

 

As his target reentered the ballroom, Dean moved silently along behind him.  He was going to have to time this perfectly. He needed the element of surprise so that the chances of him being shot were slightly less. He was still prepared that he most likely wouldn’t walk away from this without a bullet wound—he just hoped that it was a flesh wound.

 

The man paused in the doorway, which was monumentally stupid in Dean’s opinion.  His gun was still raised, but not focused on anything in particular. He heard his prey referred to as ‘Gordon,’ in Bartholomew’s pompous tone.  He wanted to burst in and shoot his ex right in the fucking head. Not only for how he had treated Dean, but for this entire situation. Shaking his head, Dean absently wondered how he hadn’t seen what a sick fuck Barty was right away. 

 

Dean heard Gordon suck in a breath before shouting, “Virgil’s fucking dead.  I think there’s someone out here.”

 

It was the perfect cue. 

 

Without a thought, Dean fired, shooting the man in the arm.  Spinning wildly, Gordon fired his weapon as he went down hard.  Dean could hear shrieking and crashes from inside the room, but he paid them now mind as he moved around the corner, ready to kill if need be.

 

The inside of the ballroom was pandemonium.  Hostages were screaming, and more than one gunshot had been discharged.  Dean stepped into the room, taking aim. Unfortunately in his fervor, he stepped too close to the fallen bad guy, Gordon.  He felt something heavy collide with his ankle and Dean fell backwards, his tailbone taking the brunt of the marble floor.  

 

Agony lanced through his body and Dean almost cried out at the pain radiating from his pelvis. For fuck’s sake, that hurt. He scrambled, in an attempt to recover but a decent punch landed on his jaw and put him down again. 

 

Both of his guns had been lost in the scuffle, but thankfully Gordon’s had as well.  Because of  _ that _ lucky break, Dean was able to focus all of his attention on fending Gordon off.  Surprisingly, the guy was still putting up a damn good fight, even with a bullet in his dominant arm. Gordon’s left hand wrapped around Dean’s throat tightly for a split second before Dean kicked out, kneeing the other man in the groin. 

 

Gordon hissed and instinctively flung out an elbow, knocking Dean in the jaw.  The motion made him bite down onto the inside of his cheek and Dean tasted the metallic flow of blood.  He spit a glob of red saliva onto the floor next to him as he fell off of Gordon with a grunt. Both men rolled a bit to the side, clutching their wounds, as they tried to compose themselves enough to finally take the other off of the playing field. 

 

* * *

 

The moment that Sam heard the gunshot that took Gordon to the floor, he knew that it had to be Dean.  The entire ballroom erupted in chaos and Sam knew that one way or another, some of them weren’t going to be walking out of here. 

 

From around the corner, Dean appeared, ready to help, but he was taken by surprise as Gordon kicked out at him from the ground. Sam watched as Dean seemed to fall in slow motion. Who should he go to first?  He needed to help his team—what was left of it—but Dean was his brother. 

 

He took two steps before he pulled up short to witness the extraordinary sight of Crowley joining the fray.  The shorter British gentleman had tasked one of the other hostages with providing pressure to Chuck’s wound in order to free himself up for an attack. Sam stared as he saw Crowley straighten and take up a throwing stance. The silver knife that he’d managed to swipe gleamed as Crowley threw it with deadly precision. 

 

The blade left Crowley’s hand like gossamer, and flashed through the air.  Due to the frenzied activity of the room, it wasn’t noticed by anyone except for Sam.  He tracked the knife with his eyes and watched as it hit its mark.

 

The blade lodged deep into Dick Roman’s back, slicing through his tux, into flesh and sinew.  The billionaire howled and ear splitting scream as he twisted in the direction of the attack. Before Sam could react, Roman had raised his gun and fired at the only person who could have thrown the knife—Crowley. 

 

The bullet hit—Sam didn’t know where—and Crowley stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.  He disappeared from Sam’s view and, as unlikely as it seemed, all that Sam could do was hope that Crowley was still breathing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as I was writing this and I realized that I kept having all of them lose their guns ("skittering across the floor") and I thought, "Even I know that isn't realistic..." HOWEVER--I have decided that since the scarecrow dude, Fritz, mentioned it in 5.9 "The Real Ghostbusters" that it's canon, so there we go. The boys lose their weapons and totally should have a bungee--I respect you Fritz.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the End...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Violence and Minor Character Deaths.
> 
> Also, BAMF!Novaks.

Sam reacted before his brain had even managed to catch up. He finally reached for his holstered gun, pulling it out to take aim at Dick Roman. Unfortunately, Roman seemed to have a sort of sixth sense for such things and flung his own arm out instinctively.  The barrel of Dick’s weapon cracked against Sam’s wrist, clipping the bone and sending a shockwave reverberating down Sam’s arm. 

 

In a display of the worst luck of all time, Sam’s gun went flying, clattering across the floor into the tangle of the hostages. If he went after it, he’d end up exposing innocent people to more violence.  Sam knew that he was going to have to disarm Roman on his own—and quickly. 

 

He swung out with his other arm, pinning Dick’s dominant hand with his own, forcing the gun towards the floor. From somewhere behind him, Sam could hear Dean grappling with Gordon and Bartholomew shouting at all of them. Putting some pressure on Roman’s wrist joint, he smiled in grim satisfaction at the grunt of pain from Dick.  He felt the man squeeze the trigger involuntarily, discharging a bullet into the marble floor. Sam didn’t know if it ricocheted or not, he was too focused on winning this scrap. 

 

In a shocking display of unexpected strength, Roman grit his teeth and began to push back, twisting in Sam’s grip. He knew that he was losing ground—Roman was going to escape and then this was going to get  _ really  _ ugly.  He held on as best as he could, but just as he’d suspected, it wasn’t enough. Sam felt the clenching panic as Roman’s wrist slipped between his fingers, and away. 

 

Jerking his head upwards, Sam’s eyes went wide as he saw that despite Roman’s escape, the criminal billionaire wasn’t exactly getting away.  Before Sam could react, Gabriel was there. He watched as the man who’d been sharing his bed, moved behind Roman and clamped his powerful hands on Dick’s head. 

 

There was no hesitation, no remorse in Gabriel’s eyes as he twisted his arms and cleanly snapped Richard Roman’s neck. 

 

Sam met Gabriel’s eyes as Roman fell to the floor between them.  “You okay, kiddo?” Gabriel asked evenly. It was as though the fact that he’d just killed a man, didn’t even register.

 

Nodding, Sam swallowed.  “Yeah, you?”

 

Before Gabe could reply there was a screech from behind them and Sam whirled to see Bartholomew glaring at them, brandishing his gun.  Sam could see the wheels turning in Boyle’s mind. He reached the same conclusion as the psycho, a mere beat ahead. Bartholomew would take Charlie in retaliation. 

 

As Boyle turned to her, insane rage clear in his eyes, Sam took off.  He heard Gabe shout his name, but he ignored all instincts to stop and turn back. There was no fucking way that he was going to lose another friend tonight.  Sam collided bodily with Charlie just as Bartholomew released her arm and took aim at her head. 

 

The gun went off and Sam swore that he felt the disturbance of the bullet in the air as he crashed to the ground, shielding Charlie from danger.  Another gunshot and Sam felt the impact as the bullet tore into his shoulder, entering at the back, sending warm bursts of agony throughout his nervous system. 

 

Despite the urge to black out from pain, Sam pushed Charlie further behind him and twisted to face Boyle as he covered Charlie with his own body. Hopefully it would be enough.  Grabbing at the wound, Sam could feel his own heated blood squishing between his fingers as he looked up into the insane face of Bartholomew Boyle.

 

* * *

 

For the most part, Dean was holding his own against Gordon, but he knew that he had to end this fight, and soon, if he was going to be of any help to Sam and the rest of his team.  Gordon raked claw-like hands down Dean’s face, and he knew that it was going to leave a mark.

 

_ ‘Screw this,’  _ Dean thought. He needed to get to Bartholomew and take the bastard out before anyone else ended up dead.

 

Dean managed to fling an elbow up towards Gordon’s face.  When Gordon moved at the last second, Dean ended up hitting dead center into the other man’s Adams Apple.  He felt the tubular structures of Gordon’s trachea and esophagus collapse under the hit, as the man himself began whining gasps for air. While Gordon struggled, Dean hailed himself up and grabbed his opponent’s hair. Gripping tightly, Dean lifted the still struggling Gordon’s head up before slamming it back against the marble floor with a sickening crack. 

 

Gordon’s eyes fluttered for a second showing his eyes rolling up into his skull as he fell unconscious. Thanking any deity who was listening, Dean rolled into his side and made a move to stand.  His whole body froze when he caught his first sight of Jo’s lifeless body on the ground nearby. It was clear that she was dead and Dean swallowed down bile. The pain of loss was physical and his mind screamed out for his friend.  

 

Ripping his eyes away from Jo, Dean looked up to find something much more horrifying facing him.  Sam was lying on the ground, bleeding from his shoulder as he covered Charlie’s sobbing form with his body.  Dean knew that defiant, furious look in Sam’s eyes—it never boded well for anyone on the receiving end. However, in this instance, it seemed as though Sam was at the major disadvantage. 

 

Bartholomew was raising his arm to shoot Sam point blank and Dean was too far away to help.  He was going to watch his ex-boyfriend murder his brother, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The frantic sounds of a struggle came from the side and Dean saw Gabriel writhing in the grip of three other hostages who were trying to keep him from rushing straight at the gunman. In slow motion, Dean looked back at his brother in horror. 

 

Just before Boyle’s gun came level, a shot echoed in the ballroom.

 

The wrinkled, white dress shirt that Bartholomew was wearing suddenly turned bright red as blood bloomed across the fabric.  In shock, Boyle’s arm lowered, taking the gun with it, until it was no longer a threat to anyone nearby. Dean’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Sam looked equally shocked at the recent turn of events. 

 

Another shot cracked, followed quickly by two more, and then another.  Each bullet found its mark, embedding into Bartholomew’s flesh, spitting crimson droplets of blood into the air. When Boyle hit the floor, there was already a significant amount of his own blood spreading out across the marble.

 

Everyone in the ballroom had gone silent, watching as the man who had terrorized them fell to the ground, dead.  The only sound was the measured footfalls of expensive dress shoes as Castiel parted the crowd of hostages, pointing a gun at Boyle’s still form, an expression of murderous rage painted on his features. 

 

_ Cas _ .

 

Dean sucked in air and watched as his fiancé approached Boyle’s body, his gun aimed with precision.  Once Cas was close enough, he kicked Boyle’s weapon away, before slamming the tip of his shoees into the man’s leg--hard--checking for reflexes. Nothing. Boyle remained deathly still, blood still pooling underneath him.

 

Just as Dean was about to call out his lover’s name and go to him, Cas jerked his arm in a sudden motion.

 

Aim. Fire. 

 

Cas emptied one more bullet right between Bartholomew Boyle’s eyes, causing more blood spatter. 

 

The last shot had a few of the hostages screaming in terror, but Castiel looked more at peace once he knew that there was no way for Bartholomew to have survived.  The small curve of Cas’ lips was both incredibly hot, and more than a little disturbing. Dean didn’t know how to react. He was still trying to figure it out when Castiel turned to him and gave him a genuine smile. 

 

“Are you all right, Dean?”

 

With a swallow and the clearing of his throat, Dean met Castiel’s eyes and said, “Never better, Cas.”

 

* * *

 

It was rather amusing to Sam that Charlie was the one to pull him to his feet.  She was pale and rather shaken, but she was alive. As he put pressure on his own bullet wound, Sam made sure that Charlie was as stable as possible before he hurried to Gabriel’s side. 

 

The shorter man was standing with Castiel and Dean, making sure that they were holding up when Sam grabbed him, pulling him into a bone-cracking hug. “Woah,” was all that Gabe managed to say before Sam was kissing him. 

 

As he poured all of his emotion and relief into the kiss, Sam could feel himself melt in Gabriel’s arms.  Despite the horrible throbbing in his shoulder, Sam was beyond happy. They were alive. They had made it through this. Gabriel was holding him, dominating their kiss and Sam couldn’t imagine a better place to be at that moment. 

 

He completely forgot about their brothers standing less than a foot away. 

 

“What the hell, man,” Dean smacked him on the back of the head, causing them to break apart. 

 

When he turned to face his older brother, Sam knew that he looked sheepish. “Um,” he shrugged and looked down at Gabriel for a little assistance.

 

“Funny story Dean-o,” Gabe grinned.  “But I’ve been having my wicked way with your baby bro for a while now.  Taking him to Pound Town. Bucking the Bronco. Slapping Bellies.”

 

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Dean growled. 

 

“I will shoot you if you keep upsetting Dean,” Cas added. 

 

“Speaking of,” Sam looked quizzically between the Novaks. “Where did you get that gun?” 

 

Castiel looked down at the weapon in his hand for a moment before he offered it to his brother. Immediately, Gabriel took the gun and made a show of tucking it into a shoulder holster.  “You came armed tonight?” Sam asked his lover.

 

Shrugging, Gabriel cocked an eyebrow up at him.  “Of fucking  _ course _ I came armed,” he replied. “You come to me, looking for help, and telling me that shit might go down with my brother in the thick of things and you expect me to—what?  Sit back and relax? No way. I defend my family.”

 

“Gabriel passed me the weapon soon after his confrontation with Boyle,” Cas supplied.  He turned to his sibling and lightly scolded him. “You shouldn’t have provoked him, you know that.”

 

Gabriel just shrugged, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “Yeah,” Sam added. “I just about had an aneurysm when you did that, Gabe.”

 

“I’ll try not to make a habit out of baiting insane gunman in the future,” Gabe rolled his eyes. “Though it makes everything much less fun, if you ask me.”

 

“We didn’t,” Cas said. 

 

“Jesus, Gabe,” Dean said. “What the hell did you do?”

 

“He got into a dick measuring contest with Bartholomew while the other had a gun and was threatening to shoot Gabriel in the head. It was...unpleasant,” Cas explained.

 

Dean snorted a quick laugh before it died in his throat. “Okay,” he said. “We gotta get Bobby in here and get these people checked out or sent to a hospital if needed.”

 

“You’re right,” Sam agreed. 

 

“Oh, one more thing,” Dean said in a faux casual tone. The others might be fooled, but Sam knew his brother better than anyone. Dean leveled Gabriel with a stern glare, and pointed directly at him.  “You better treat Sammy right, or I’m gonna come for you, Novak.”

 

“Relax,” Gabe said. “Sammy is my priority now.”  He turned and looked up at Sam, sending a rush of affection between them.  “You cool with us going Facebook Official, kiddo? Cause I think I’m in love with you.”

 

Sam’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t expected  _ that.  _ Not by a long shot. The fucking L-Word!  Casually blurted out after a hostage situation.  Sam stood there with a bullet in his shoulder and the most perfect man in the world dropping an ‘I Love You Bomb’ on top of him. Mentally crafting his reply, Sam finally opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by an enraged bellow, that caused them all to start.

 

* * *

 

The commotion had all of them turning in a defensive stance.  Dean pulled his gun, and was pleased to see that Gabe had as well. Both of them were aiming in the direction of the shout, seeing that Gordon had regained consciousness and was jumping to his feet.  Dean had no idea if the man was armed or not—but he  _ did  _ know that Gordon was unstable and dangerous.

 

And apparently armed once again.  He had retrieved his weapon and was aiming it straight at Castiel.  Despite his training, Dean’s heart skipped a beat and he hesitated a moment too long.  He pulled himself together and slid in front of Cas while his finger moved to the front of the trigger. He aimed straight at Gordon’s head—right between the eyes. 

 

Much to his surprise, Dean never fired.

 

He was beaten to the punch by five rapidly fired shots—each one hitting their mark. Blood bloomed from multiple wounds on Gordon’s torso as the man staggered from the impacts.  At the corner of Gordon’s mouth, a slow trickle escaped, running down the man’s chin. It was the last thing that Dean focused on before Gordon fell backwards and hit the floor—dead.

 

Everyone in the room spun to see none other than Fergus Crowley, half standing where he’d fallen after taking a bullet to the chest from Dick Roman. He was pointing the weapon straight at Gordon, and despite the tremor in his hand, Crowley had shot with precision. 

 

Dean gaped as the short Brit wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and limped over to them.  He held out the gun to Sam with a slight grin and said, “Thanks for the assist, Moose.”

 

“Crowley?” They all spoke as one. 

 

“The one and only.”

 

“I thought you were dead,” Gabriel said, his eyebrow quirked as he regarded the other man with respect.

 

“Yeah,” Sam added. “We all saw you go down.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Crowley grunted. He gripped his ruined dress shirt and tugged harshly, ripping it open and sending buttons flying.  Underneath was a law enforcement issued bullet proof vest, with a mushroomed bullet clearly visible directly over Crowley’s heart. “A bit more difficult than  _ that _ to take me out of the game, darling.”

 

“Who the hell  _ are  _ you?” Dean narrowed his eyes. 

 

“My real name is Crowley MacLeod,” he held out a hand for each of them to shake.  “I’m an agent with Interpol. My superiors sent me across the pond to keep an eye on Dick Roman and Bela Talbot.  Guess I was just in the right place at the right time to meet all of you.”

 

“Interpol,” Dean said dully.  _ Of course the pompous ass was one of the good guys. Figured _ .  “Of course you are,” he shook his head. 

 

“That’s why your background was so clean,” Sam said. 

 

“I’ve told the boys to dirty it up a bit but they’re bound and determined to make me look bloody suspicious with nothing behind that blasted cover ID.”

 

“Why Fergus, then?” Cas wondered aloud. 

 

“My mother picked it out,” Crowley said petulantly.

 

“Why would your mother have any say over your cover ID?” Dean snorted. “Does she pick out your clothes for you too,” he joked. 

 

“She’s my superior,” Crowley said. “And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Fair enough,” Sam broke in, trying to change the subject.

 

They moved to try and help some of the hostages, who were still huddled whimpering together—the room thick with tension and fear.  Dean had just helped Mayor Mills to her feet when the ballroom doors burst open again and a whole squadron in SWAT black came flooding into the room. 

 

The team parted to reveal Bobby Singer walking toward them, with a tall, elegant redhead at his side.  Bobby turned to shake her hand before he walked straight to Dean and pulled him into a hug. Sam and Charlie were next, and Dean didn’t like the look of unshed tears in Bobby’s eyes.

 

“Bobby,” Dean said softly. “What is it?”

 

The man who was not only their boss, but their family, looked straight at Dean and sighed. “We found Bela Talbot downstairs trying to break into the vault.  She’s in custody now—babbling about ‘The Word of God’ or some shit, trying to make a plea deal.”

 

“The Word of God,” Gabe added. “It’s a stone tablet that was excavated near Qumran about a year ago. We just got it in, but we were only a stop on the road for it.  Is that what they were after?”

 

“Apparently.”

 

“Well that’s stupid,” Gabe muttered. “Nobody even knows how to read the fucking thing.”

 

“Bobby,” Sam looked at the director with concern. 

 

Singer ducked his head for a moment before looking at all of them.  “Victor must have surprised her,” he told them. “He was lying on the ground next to the vault.  Shot in the head.”

 

Dean felt fucking sick. Victor. Jo. This operation had taken Bartholomew Boyle and Dick Roman off of the board, but with the losses, was it worth the price?  He locked eyes with Sam and he knew that his brother was thinking the same thing. Quickly, he and Sam filled Bobby in about Jo’s death as well. Their boss swore up a blue streak and excused himself to stand vigil over her body. Bobby had always had a thing for Jo’s mom, Ellen—losing the feisty blonde agent was similar to the loss of a child for Singer. Dean’s soul ached for Bobby. 

 

“Was this even worth it?” The words escaped Dean’s lips before he could stop them. 

 

He felt Cas slip their hands together, comfort pulsing where their fingers met. “It’s over,” Cas said gravely. “While we will mourn Victor and Joanna, we will remember them as heroes.”

 

“Cas is right,” Sam added.  “It might not look like it now, but think about how many lives will be saved with Boyle and Roman dead.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean replied. It sounded hollow to him.  It  _ felt  _ hollow. He knew that it would be a long time before he’d be able to think of Jo or Henrickson without feeling sick.  He missed them already. 

 

Sam and Gabriel had moved away so that Sam could give some information to the paramedics that had arrived to triage the hostages. He said something about a shattered knee, grabbed Gabe’s hand and the two had disappeared into the crowd. 

 

Time ticked slowly by.  Minutes. Hours. They had been asked to stay so that they could all be debriefed by both the redhead, (a Miss Abaddon Sands), as well as their own people from the Bureau.

 

Standing next to Cas, their hands linked, Dean stayed quiet for a while, relishing in the fact that Castiel was  _ there _ , with him.  That he was safe and  _ alive. _   “I’m sorry for what I said Cas,” Dean finally said. “I didn’t mean it, I—“

 

“I know, Dean,” Cas interrupted. “I know you didn’t mean it. And I’m sorry too.”  When Dean looked at his fiancée in confusion, Cas gave him a soft smile. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard to come here. For that, I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m not sorry about that, Cas,” Dean turned to his lover. “If we hadn’t been here, this whole thing could have been a lot worse.  You took down Boyle, man. You stopped this.  _ You _ stopped this. So yeah, I’m glad that we were here.”

 

Dean leaned in, his hand coming up to tenderly cup Cas’ cheek. Their lips were about to brush when Sam and Gabriel returned, interrupting them.  “Hey there, lovebirds,” Gabe slapped Dean on the back, causing him to glare at his future brother-in-law.

 

“Gabriel, your timing is, as ever, impeccable,” Castiel sighed. 

 

“Damn straight it is,” Gabe chirped. He held up his cell phone, displaying the time.  Eleven fifty-nine. “Less than a minute until the New Year,” Gabriel said. 

 

Ignoring his brother and Gabe, Dean turned back to Castiel and allowed himself a moment to take in Cas’ face. He tried to memorize exactly how his fiancée looked at that moment.  

 

A new year. A brand new start for them.  

 

Dean pulled Castiel to him and kissed his lover soundly.  Their tongues danced as kissed, pouring as much affection and love that they possibly could into the touch.  Off to the side, Dean could hear Gabriel softly counting down the seconds to Sam. “Three...two...one,” Gabe said. “Now get over here and plant one on me, kiddo!”

 

Initiating one more kiss before he pulled back, Dean looked deeply into Castiel’s eyes and said, “Happy New Year, Angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last main chapter of this story. There is a short epilogue to follow that closes it all out...


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet little epilogue...

_Three Months Later..._

 

“Where the hell are they?”

 

“I don’t know, Dean.”

 

“This isn’t like Sammy.”

 

“It’s very much like Gabriel.”

 

Dean stomped around the small bed and breakfast that they had rented out for the day as he fumed. Today was the day that he and Castiel were finally getting married. 

 

Neither man had wanted a big fuss—Dean had advocated for just running down to City Hall, but Castiel had wanted some sort of ceremony with a few people, and Dean could never tell Cas, “No.”. So here they were, at a quaint little venue upstate with their brothers, Bobby, Charlie, and a few others, so they could tie the knot. 

 

The only problem was that both of the Best Men were missing. 

 

“I’m sure your brother tricked Sam into doing something dumb,” Dean said. 

 

“Most likely,” Cas calmly agreed.

 

The door suddenly opened to reveal Bobby, dressed in an old moth eaten suit, trying to look put out, but failing miserably. He stepped aside to reveal an embarrassed looking Sam and a smirking Gabriel.  “Where have you two been?” Castiel asked sternly. “We were supposed to start fifteen minutes ago.”

 

“Nowhere,” Sam said, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. 

 

“I found these two steaming up the windows in your ‘Just Hitched’ limousine,” Bobby said, trying to hide a grin. “Got quite an eyeful.”

 

Sam groaned and covered his face, while Gabe said, “There’ll be another show at eight pm, old man.”

 

“In our fucking limo, Sam?” Dean asked. “Really?”

 

“It was Gabe’s idea,” Sam muttered. 

 

“Never mind,” Cas said. “We can deal with this later.  Just...go take your places.”

 

They had decided that they both wanted to walk down the aisle and have their brothers give them away, so to speak. Cas and Gabriel went first, the two of them speaking quietly as they moved to the front of the small clutch of chairs set up for the guests. Dean was certain that Cas was giving his older brother a lecture on punctuality, and he grinned and shook his head fondly. 

 

“You’re not mad, are you, Dean?”

 

He looked up at his little brother and grinned. “Nah,” he said. “Not really. Although it was a dick move of you to sully my wedding limo. I had plans for that, and now I can’t because your jizz might be on the seats.”

 

“Ew, Dean, really?” Sam wrinkled his nose as they began their own trek up the aisle to meet Cas and Gabriel.

 

“It’s cool,” Dean said. “When you and the munchkin get hitched, Cas and I will fuck in your limo for payback.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. “Fair enough.”

 

They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence.  Dean was just eager to begin his new life with Castiel. This was their fresh start, and Dean just knew that it was going to be amazing. 

 

As he reached the front, and took his future husband’s hands, Dean looked out over the small gathering—their closest friends and family.  Bobby and Charlie were right in the front, beaming at the two of them with affection and pride. Next to them were two empty chairs with signs on them.  It had been Castiel’s idea, and Dean was thrilled that he’d suggested it. 

 

The two reserved seats were for Jo and Victor—front row, exactly where they should be.

 

Dean dipped his head in acknowledgment before turning back to the man he was about to marry.  “I love you, Cas,” he whispered. 

 

“I love you too, Dean.”

 

The grooms leaned in for a quick, chaste kiss.  “We’re not at that part yet,” Gabriel stage whispered.  Dean chuckled when Sam elbowed his boyfriend in the ribs for his comment. 

 

Jo’s mother, Ellen, smiled at their antics before touching them both lightly on the shoulder and raising her eyebrows in a silent question. When Dean nodded at her, Ellen stood straight and addressed the crowd. 

 

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

 

**THE END**

[ ](https://imgur.com/a/H57Vhts)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to all of you who have stuck with me through this fic. Its been a journey, that's for certain. I started this in November of 2018, got about 35k into it and didn't touch it again until the end of March 2020 where I closed it all out in a week. So there has been a lot of time between these chapters--I'm hoping that it flowed well. Again, thank you for reading, and I really hope that you enjoyed my foray into 'Action Fic' with The Rival. You are all awesome!!

**Author's Note:**

> 🍭I am on Tumblr as crowley-loves-usuk if anyone feels the urge to follow or message me. I love talking to readers! 🍭


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